Poot and Cubby

I know. You’re all just dying to know how it ends, right? First, let me answer a quick question Jeff had from last week. No, I wasn’t like Ally Sheedy’s character in The Breakfast Club (gawd, do I LOVE that movie). Even though I detested popular kids and thought I was a loser, I had a few friends. Outwardly, I was fairly chipper and outgoing. I like to think I wasn’t quite as bitter, reclusive and weird as Sheedy’s character. Now on with the story…

The Library Boy and I began to stalk each other. We began creating excuses to go to the Public Library. This proved to be difficult for me as I was a carless, farm kid. Both of us feared we might have lost our chance that day I chose to wave to him from the safety of my parents’ minivan.

Soon, Library Boy figured out that I was there most Thursdays. After a month of chance encounters, sneaking glances across computer terminals, and casually following each other from one aisle to the next, I decided that the madness had to end. But how to approach him? One day, right before I had to leave after another hour of mutual stalking, I didn’t think about it. I just went for it. I will warn you, this was not one of my finer moments. I sneaked up behind him in one of the aisles, did a little jump, and said, “Boo!” That’s right, my friends. That was the first word I ever said to my husband.

Somehow, he found this odd little leprechaun girl charming and decided to actually speak to me. We engaged in painful small talk - teachers I had, classes I was taking. What he did for a living (the husband was already 20 at this time). As he walked me out to the minivan, he asked for my number. Maybe we could hang out sometime? I hesitated. I had learned his name. I knew he knew Shane (aka The Boyfriend). The Boyfriend had mentioned this Jason to me. He pretty much worshiped Jason because he was big in the alternative music scene. He set up shows. He played guitar in A BAND. And here I was stalking the Boyfriend’s casual friend while he was hours away. Talking to, in my eyes, this way-too-cool-for-me, older, Indie Rock God. Wow. I felt like a heartless bitch.

I explained to Jay about the Boyfriend Situation. We decided to try out being friends. While I was agreeing to this Friend Arrangement, I knew I was full of shit. I had to break up with the Boyfriend post haste. There was something to this Jason. I was drawn to him. And not just because he was there. I could feel there was something between us.

I had planned to meet up with Shane that coming weekend. I knew this was not something I could do over the phone after we’d known each other for so long. After talking to Jason on the Thursday, I spent the weekend with Shane trying to figure out how to tell him I wanted to break up with him. It was horrible.

I remember telling him on Sunday. There was crying. And begging. He was confused. He thought we would eventually get married. At one point I had thought so too. I cried while driving home with my grandma that weekend. She was fabulous (as usual). She assured me I had done the right thing. And I knew I had.

I have to mention that months before meeting Jay I had received a letter from my aunt, fearing that I was growing up too fast. That maybe my relationship with Shane was too serious; that it was difficult for two people who were going to change so much in the years to come to truly know if they were right for each other (she said it more eloquently than this, though, and she made me start thinking about a lot of things - thanks, Larsen!) Even though I felt awful, I also felt powerful. For the first time I could remember, I decided to put my feelings above someone else’s. To take a chance and do what was right for me. It felt pretty amazing (you know, besides the guilt).

I didn’t spend a lot of time mourning that relationship. Occasionally Shane would call me and try to be my friend, even though I had no interest in keeping him in my life. During our last conversation he told me about a girl he’d met, but wasn’t really into. Oddly enough, he ended up marrying that girl and having two kids. Now, they are in the middle of a divorce. Imagine if I hadn’t left when I did…

I called Jay a few days later and told him what happened. After that, we were pretty much inseparable. In a few months, he was basically living at my house. (Don’t tell his mom, but we - gasp! - even slept in the same bed. Have I mentioned lately that I LOVE my parents?)

Jay and I would have long conversations about everything. We found out we had many things in common. Things like our shared recurring nightmare that deeply disturbed us - we often dreamt that all of our teeth were falling out. Even stupid little things like the fact that our moms had the same brand of washing machine. We loved the same music. We would dance for hours at shows. Together we discovered pleasures our small-town selves were previously deprived of. Ethnic food (especially Indian). Art house films. All of these coincidences and shared passions added up to only one thing in our love-drunk minds - that we were meant to be together.

After I graduated from high school we moved in together. We lived together for two years and then something awful happened. At least, I thought it was awful at the time. I guess you’re going to have to come here next week to find out what it was…

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This post is part of Soap Opera Sunday as created by Twas Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe. For more soapy goodness, visit this week’s guest host, Jenn in Holland.