I’ve noticed this last year that every time a season changes, my thoughts turn to True Love. Summer nights leave me wishing for someone to lie next to in a grassy field, star-gazing and talking the night away together. Spring mornings get me fantasizing about walking hand-in-hand with some fabulous guy, down a path lined with beautiful flowering trees and bushes, just soaking in the perfumed air. Who doesn’t love the idea of snuggling in front of a delightful fire while the weather outside is frightful, and kissing good night and holding someone tight before heading back into the storm? (That’s right, go ahead and Let it Snow -- as long as I’ve got a man to keep me warm!)
Fall is the most recent season to descend, and its arrival was accompanied by heavy rain showers over the weekend. The rain smells so good here and it feels nice too, since the temperature hasn’t plummeted quite yet. I’ve found myself outside this week, tasting the rain and imagining my future Prince Charming spinning me in circles and then planting a big one on my lips while the rain pours down on us.
Naturally, I can’t think of future love without reviewing past loves. Well, “likes” anyway. My experience with relationships is limited, but (of course) bizarre and sometimes hilarious. From pining over someone else only to be rejected, to being the object of someone else’s affections, I have stories galore. And so here’s one of many.
It was my freshman year at BYU, sometime between getting a pen stuck in my hair and wetting my pants in the lobby of my dorm. There was A Boy. He was tall, with brown hair and beautiful gray-blue eyes that reminded me of hematite:
This boy was really goofy, but fun to talk to and I found myself drawn to him. Unfortunately, he found himself drawn to my roommate. And so I sat back and watched as they hung out together night after night, putting on a brave face for my roommate’s sake, but secretly screaming into my pillow in jealous fits after she’d leave.
One night, I went with a large group of friends to a school dance. I noticed as we walked home afterwards that The Boy was holding my roommate’s hand. The whole group discussed going out for ice cream, but after we reached the dorms everyone scattered except for The Boy, The Roommate, and me. I should have gracefully bowed out at this point, but I really did want ice cream and also I think some part of me was a glutton for punishment and refused to leave just because it was an awkward situation. Little did I know how much more awkward it was about to get…
My roommate went up to our room to get her purse, which left The Boy and I alone together for a few minutes. As soon as she was out of sight, he, without preamble, made a request from me. Apparently after I spotted the two of them holding hands, my roommate had yanked her hand away and furiously whispered for him not to make any moves on her, especially in front of me. He liked her a lot and demanded an explanation for why he couldn’t demonstrate his affection.
To my horror, The Boy informed me that my roommate had revealed my burning lust for him and declared that out of loyalty to me, there would be no more hold-handing or anything else in the near future. After explaining her position to me, he proceeded to beg me to “release my hold” and give him permission to kiss her. I was speechless (and mortified). I finally stuttered that I didn’t care what they did and that he should go ahead and have his way with her if he wanted, and to take me out of the equation.
For obvious reasons, I no longer had any desire to go out to ice cream, but when I tried to excuse myself, the boy started to have a conniption fit. If I didn’t go, then my roommate would know he had tattled on her in order to get my permission to make his move on her, and then she would be very angry, and then he would get rejected when he went in for the kill. He begged me to go with them for ice cream and to pretend our conversation had never taken place. I still don’t know why (except for the whole “I’m a glutton for punishment” thing), but I agreed to go along and attempted to act normal and lighthearted for the rest of the evening. It was very awkward.
Well, his plan worked and after that night, The Boy got to hold hands with and kiss my roommate without any interference on my part. For various reasons, my roommate eventually decided she was no longer interested in him and during their dreaded DTR informed him that there was actually no relationship to define and there never would be.
I didn’t know the break-up had happened, and so I was confused when The Boy called our room the next day and asked specifically for me. He had me meet him in the parking lot outside of our dorm buildings, and then we somehow ended up sitting in his truck for over an hour while he lamented his failed relationship with my roommate. He asked for advice, grilled me to try and gain insight into my roommates’ head, and then there was a lot of rambling about how frustrating love and life could be in general. I mostly just listened while he carried on and cried like a baby. (Seriously, there were small sobs and a steady stream of tears falling down his cheeks.) The conversation was beneficial for both of us, as he got to vent to someone who knew the situation, and I got to see what a wiener the kid was so that I could finally end any lingering feelings of attraction to him. Win-win.
After the crying/venting session ended, we both got out of the truck and stood on the sidewalk facing each other. The conversation had been quite an ordeal, and apparently The Boy felt that a normal goodbye would not suffice. He thanked me for my time and attention, and then gave me a hug. He was not the hugging type, and there was an immediate air of awkwardness afterwards. In order to conquer the awkwardness, he reached out with his right hand to smack me on the shoulder, “buddy” style. Well, I thought our farewell was complete and so I had started to turn around so I could walk away when he reached to hit me. Because of this, his open palm smacked me square in the right boob. I quickly decided to ignore the botched move and turned the rest of the way around and began to walk away. I made it about 5 steps and then heard, “Uhh, Oliver?” (That’s what he had called me since the beginning of our friendship.) “Yeah?” I responded. “Um…I was aiming for your shoulder.” “Yeah, I figured. Have a good day.” And then I walked away laughing while he stood there red-faced.
Isn’t that just so typical? The most action I’ve ever gotten is from a crybaby boy who was in love with my roommate and who didn’t enjoy the boob-touching at all.
Someday, my prince will come. (And HE’LL make inappropriate moves on me on purpose, and we'll both enjoy it, dang it!)