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.
“Most days, I try desperately to forget my childhood. There are tiny, nagging things that have settled just within the back of my mind, and no matter how hard I try they will not relent. Most of it is related to my original home, the one I was raised in. I pass it quite a but, and though it is vacant more often than not it is the exterior, choked by vines, that continues to keep it where it stands. It has become part of the landscape. But for me it will simply be my former home. I don't think many people live to see their homes turn into legends, but for me there is little I have gained from this. If anything, people who know the history of the place choose to avoid me when they can. To the rest, I can at least be some semblance of normal
My father and I lived in the home nearly twenty years ago. My dad got it cheaply, shortly after my mother passed away. I was born at the local hospital, and had plenty of friends. Yet I spent most of my time in my room on the bottom floor. Even back then the vines were thick on the home, and I can recall my room being bathed in green light even during the brightest days. I would hole myself up in my room for what felt like weeks, and during the summer that was likely the case. All that time I would spend just trying to stay out of the way of my father.
I kept my door closed most of the time, but it didn't always help. Late at night I would lay awake in my bed, the streetlamps lighting up the leafs of the vines. In the other room I would hear my father talking to someone, though there was never anyone there. It was never anything clear, but it was certainly his voice with breaks in conversation for someone else to speak. This would continue late into the night, and if I was lucky I would be asleep before he started crying.
I was not ashamed of my father, and I didn't think poorly of myself for him being like that. He would still take me to movies, to plays, and would even on occasion take me out to the woods for camping. The camping trips were the thing I most looked forward to. The house seemed to have a bad influence on him, and it was only when we were outside and far away from that building that he seemed to be himself. At times like that he could talk about my mom freely, and though some might think that as morbid, it was actually comforting. I loved my father, and losing him was something I have really never worked through.
As the years passed, he continued to get worse. At dinner he would insist that I set an extra place setting. The few times I refused he sent me to bed without dinner, though he would ultimately show up later with a small plate. Often we would just have a normal dinner, but sometimes my dad would suddenly get quiet, and the conversation would stop. He would just mumble the whole time, and I would have to grab his rapidly cooling plate and put it away so he could have it for lunch the next day.