I 'm a bit under the weather today, which for some reason makes me want to write something fun and useless. Behold three little stories of childhood crushes.
The Chair Lift Switch
The first girl I had a crush on was named Keely. I got my mom to take me to a toy store to buy her a present (a troll doll), which I then left on her desk. Anonymously, I think. I'm pretty sure that we were eventually "dating", but it's hard to remember since "dating" was just a title back then.
I do remember going on a ski trip with her, though. Her friend Caitlin asked to ride the chair lift up with me, and, on the way up, asked if I'd mind if Keely dated my friend. I was too polite to say anything besides "no, that's fine". Keely and my friend were riding the chairlift in front of us, and I imagine they had a similar conversation.
Not So Anonymous
He also "stole" another girl I was interested in. I met her in the "new to Texas" group as a freshman in High School. We had a mutual friend named Mary who somehow arranged for us to pass anonymous notes back and forth. I still have them. At Mary's insistence we had a phone call, back before the days of caller ID, and I somehow revealed my name by accident. Then my friend started dating her shortly after.
Three Bold Moves
A few years later I made friends with another friend's girlfriend, Dina. The two of them broke up, we continued to be friends, and one night I found myself in her girls-only dorm room. I think I was helping her on her computer, which is the one and only move geeks have, and it never works. As she was typing away, I got into her absent roommate's bed, and decided to try another move: the pretend-I-fell-asleep maneuver. Shockingly, it worked. Half an hour of silence later, she got in her bed. I pretended to be woken up, but too groggy to get back to my dorm. We talked for an hour or so and then started to fall asleep. After plenty of time for awkward silence, it was time for my third bold move of the night.
"So... are you really going to make me sleep in THIS bed?"
"Are you serious?"
"Uh, I guess not."
I went into her bed and we made out. In front of her building there were three handicap spots that were never used. The car that I bought had handicap plates, which, of course, I never changed, so I'd park in those spots all the time. Her ex drove by the next day, saw the car, and was furious. Ten years later and it's still awkward between us.
She and I became boyfriend and girlfriend. One night, for no reason at all, she was furious with me online. She said she never wanted to talk to me again. I launched into hero mode. I drove my car to the back door of her dorm and called her. It was raining. I told her that I was going to stay in my car outside her place until she would talk to me. I thought that this was a really valiant display of masculine honor. She told me that she was kidding around when she said she didn't want to talk to me. Nothing was wrong at all. It was just a joke.
A month later we broke up. She sent me a really long email, which I still have, basically saying that I was a crappy boyfriend. She was right. We got back together a month later, and then I broke up with her a month after that. I wasn't thinking it at the time, but I suspect that the whole relapse was me subconsciously wanting to be the one who did the breaking up. She's the only ex I have who doesn't want to talk to me.
It took me until the Project Hollywood Days, but I did eventually learn that other friend's exes are off-limits no matter what.
wow, you are an ass, sir. parking in handicap spots "just cause you can" and hooking up with a friend's ex? that's really low.
Good timing. While you may have intended this as a "fun and useless" story, it does give me hope to move on. Just went through a harsh break up last week, and I doubt she'll ever talk to me again. I purchased "Make Her Chase You" specifically to learn how to win her over, and it worked flawlessly. For that I am indebted to you, Tynan. Now it's time for me to read it again and find someone better.
I was more F than A or C, but any way you look at it, I was an AFC. An Average Frustrated Chump. I had a crush on a girl named Renee, who lived on my floor in the dorm.
For weeks I lived in agony, wondering if she liked me. I'd make subtle hints and get back subtle responses which weren't nearly conclusive enough for me to do anything about it.
Things came to a head on Friday night. I had to ask her. Not in person, of course. On AIM.
I broke my ankle the week before my second fall semester of university. Couldn't walk from August to November, a horrible time in my life. Her calls continued, more normal than before but less like talking to a human; they had medicated and rehabbed whatever sanity was left in her out. That December, she visited for Christmas. I had been walking without crutches for seven days when I met her at her brother's house.
She didn't know. I had never told her. She had called maybe four times since my ankle had been broken. There was no point in telling her. If she couldn't remember my birthdate or information I had told her just five minutes earlier (in that same conversation), the ATV accident was a detail she simply didn't need to be bothered with.
The first time I saw her, I almost cried. It wasn't for joy, because the worst was over, or from shock. I fought bitter tears those first several minutes with her. All I had wanted was a chance to recoup and rest from the most stressful semester of my life (18 credit hours of being a music major/ only being in class from late October to final exams/ the whole not being able to walk thing/ Angel). But there she was, hugging and holding on to me as if we hadn't seen eachother in a few weeks, smiling like a kid posing for Christmas pictures.
It was fake. All of it. She didn't want her family to know that we had grown so far apart. I didn't want her family to think that she and I were close. I bit my tongue that whole week, driving her around to see what all had changed since she lived there (about fifteen years ago). Every once and a while she would make an unnerving comment about how nice it was to be together again- talking as if we were best friends that had been separated by trivial forces. Her hourly hugs were creepy and looked more like a cat pouncing on a toy than affection. The always odd sense of humor was at a whole new level of weird- shock therapy, I kept reminding myself.
Angel reminisced about the pretty clothes she used to buy me, puffy dresses and tight clothes I hated. She laughed about playing Barbies with me; I was surprised she remembered, I had only managed to talk her into playing a handful of times (after hours of begging). Just as back then, she tried to buy my love- not knowing how to gain the effortless connection daddy and I had always shared. I didn't want meaningless trinkets as a child and I sure as hell didn't want them as an adult.