Binkies and Briefcases

The next day was Friday. It was the end of the school year and there were a lot of assemblies and various other ways to avoid being in the classroom. For one such assembly we had to perform the dances we had done at King’s Dominion for the entire school. Eddie had volunteered to be our “Cold Hearted Snake” again. I was waiting backstage with Nicki and some other dancers when he came up to us, ready for the performance.

Before I knew it we were kissing. REALLY kissing. This was not the chaste and awkward pecks that I expected from him. He was full-on making out with me. In front of people. By this time I knew that the reason he had dumped me the previous year was because he didn’t want to be seen with me in public-it might have hurt his fragile reputation and all- so I was completely taken by surprise.

It wasn’t a particularly good kiss (It was awful, actually, sorry honey.) but it certainly proved he had gotten over that issue.

I didn’t want to get in trouble (we got demerits for public displays of affection) so I pulled away quickly.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, curious and not sure whether or not I was more irritated that he pounced on me in public without warning or that we clearly weren’t going to be compatible kissers. Also, if you recall, I didn’t even really like him all that much so I was a little put off.  

“Just saying ‘hi’ to my girlfriend.” Huh. That sort of had a nice ring to it. Maybe.    

He moved to stand behind me and draped his arms over my shoulders, resting his chin on the top of my head. That was better. It was kind of nice, actually. I liked that he was a full head taller than me. Did he just kiss the top of my head? What is going on?  

Nicki looked at me in complete shock. Word had traveled quickly around our small school, so by lunch everyone already knew we were “going out,” but this seemed pretty heavy for the first day. I looked back with wide eyes and raised my eyebrows, giving her an unsure smile. I tried to shrug, but his arms were heavy on my shoulders. I gave her a look that said, “I have no idea. Apparently I have a new boyfriend who is really into PDA and we do this now.”

We did our dance and afterward he brought me a small bouquet of flowers.

Where did he even get those and what am I supposed to do with them in the middle of the school day?  

“I heard that people give dancers flowers after dance recitals.” He seemed shy. That was certainly a first.

“Thank you. That’s…sweet.” Where would he hear that? From his mom? Has he been talking to his mom about me?

“I promised it would be different than last time,” He tried to explain the reason he was coming on so strong so fast.

“So far you are really keeping that promise, huh? This is different.” I was tentative, monotone, still not sure if I liked this new approach. I looked at the ground and twisted the toe of my jazz sneaker into the gym floor.  

“I will always keep my promises. You’ll see.” He stepped toward me and reached his hand out to touch my face, lifting my chin with his bent index finger.  

He kissed me again, softer. Better. Maybe we could work with this after all.

When he walked away I was surprised to be left breathless and vaguely disappointed. I didn’t want to be away from him.

At that moment I already knew I was in trouble. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. This boy was going to make me fall in love with him.   

Part 4

This part is mostly boring background information, but it does involve a serial killer, so there’s that…

After the kiss we were officially “going out.” Those are the rules in ninth grade. Although, since neither one of us could drive, that really just meant that we saw each other in school and talked on the phone occasionally.

We had been going out for almost one week and then he dumped me on Friday. I don’t remember even being sad. I think I had expected hearts and flowers and chocolates or at least some semblance of romance. What I got was a friend who gave me chaste and awkward kisses in the hall a few times a week if no one was looking, so I really didn’t mind being dumped. Monday we saw each other in school and he called that night and said he had made a mistake and wanted to go out with me again. By that weekend I was bored with that business and I broke up with him. Our relationship freshman year lasted a grand total of two weeks, minus one weekend. We don’t count this time period at all. (He has since confessed that he dumped me the first time because I was pretty far below him on the social ladder and, being the new kid, he was afraid of what that would do to his reputation. By the end of the weekend he realized that was stupid.)

There were no hard feelings and we both dated other people. I got to kiss a Canadian boy on the top of the Eiffel tower that year when I went on the school trip to France and Eddie started a serious relationship with a girl in the junior class that lasted a few months.  We stayed good friends because we were in the same classes and social circle. It was a tiny school and virtually impossible to avoid each other. Although by that time, if I’m being honest, I thought he was a little immature. (I had an international affair in the most romantic city on earth, after all. I was far too worldly for a typical high school romance.)

I played volleyball and became a cheerleader and, although I wouldn’t say that I was popular by any stretch of the imagination, I was very good friends with Nicki, one of the more popular girls in our class, because we danced together inside and outside of school and we were the only freshmen who were taking upper level French.  I was able to hold my own and my confidence grew. I learned how to use a flat iron and make up. Time marched on.

Towards the end of our sophomore, year in March of 2000, serial killer Joe Palczynski went on a killing spree in the suburbs of Baltimore, which happened to be just a few minutes from where we went to school. It was scary and while he was on the loose we all had to be on lock down after classes until our parents came to pick us up. While on lock down we just sat around the cafeteria doing homework and talking to our friends. I was talking to Lauren and the conversation went something like this…

“I think Eddie likes me again, but he kind of gets on my nerves.”

“You are so full of yourself, he does NOT like you like that.” Best friends keep it real

“I really think he does.”

“No, he doesn’t. Seriously. Get over it. Wait. He IS looking at you. Is he throwing candy?”

And then I got pelted with a bunch of Shocktarts. (I wonder why I thought he was annoying?)

“Oh my gawd. He totally does like you.” When you are 15 and a boy throws candy at you it is a pretty obvious declaration of love.

Eventually they caught the serial killer and things returned to normal.

That spring our school was invited to travel to Virginia and perform our dance routines at the King’s Dominion amusement park. Nicki and I were dancing a duet to Paula Abdul’s “Cold Hearted Snake” and we needed a boy for the first few seconds of the dance so that we could pretend to fight over him. Eddie was among the volunteers. (We did several performances and used different guys. He was one of them.)

On the bus ride home Nicki told me that Eddie had confessed to her that he still had feelings for me. I still wasn’t interested. Been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt and it didn’t fit.

In May of every year our school did something called Olympic Day, which is basically field day. You signed up for a team, played games and sports, and they turned it into a kind of competition. I had signed up to be on a team with my girlfriends, most of us being the nerdy, non-sports loving variety, and much to my dismay Eddie had signed up to be on our team too. He was popular and athletic, so this was the last team he normally would have been on. He was being very obvious in his amorous pursuit. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to back off.

I had to spend all day embarrassing myself playing sports I wasn’t any good at in front of a boy I had no interest in who wouldn’t leave me alone. Meanwhile, several of the girls on our team did have an interest in him and were busy flirting with him the whole time, which annoyed me, although I couldn’t figure out why.

During the awards ceremony he sat next to me and my friend Nancy sat on the other side of him. They spent the whole time talking about me as if I couldn’t hear them.

“Do you think she’d go out with me?”

“Oh she’ll totally go out with you. Here’s her number.” (Nancy, I’m going to KILL you.)

After school I was really mad at Nancy.

“How could you do that to me?! Are you serious? I don’t want to date him. I already did and it did. Not .Work.” 

“Why not? It’s Eddie. Everybody loves him. Besides, I already told him you’d say yes. He’s calling you tonight. Just date him for a week. You can always break up later. Don’t hurt his feelings.” 

Apparently not all peer pressure is bad and I really didn’t want to hurt his feelings. By now he was a good friend. I sighed and resolved to give it one last chance.

He did call me that night. He always called when he said he would.  He rambled for about an hour before he finally asked me.

“The real reason I called is that I would really like to try again with you.”

“Do you promise it will be different than last time?”

“Yes.”

And it would be. Much, MUCH different.

Part 3

I miss my husband and I’ve been meaning to blog our love story like I’ve seen so many other bloggers do, so I thought that for the next week or so, while we wait for him to return from his mission trip and I have some extra time on my hands, it would be fun (for me, I don’t know about you) to take a break from my regularly scheduled programming to write it out. Here goes Part 1…

The First Kiss

It was a Saturday afternoon in November, 1998.  We were freshmen and our honors English class was studying Romeo and Juliet. (I realize that there is no cheesier way to start a love story than that sentence, but that’s what happened.) The class had been divided into groups of four and told to select a scene.  Our group decided that for our project we would take the balcony scene and act it out in two different eras, to illustrate that the story was timeless. Lauren and Gene would dress in costume and do it, as written, live in the classroom. I was shy and uncomfortable speaking in front of people, so the group decided that Eddie and I would record a video of ourselves acting out a modern day version and play it for the class when it was our turn to present. We would film it at my house because, of all our limited choices for a location, my parents’ house was best-suited for the scene.  Lauren, our group member who had also been my best friend since the second grade, would be there to operate the camcorder.

 We translated Shakespeare’s words to the best of our ability and I stood on the back porch and listened to one of the most popular boys in our class confess his (scripted) love for me while my BFF caught it all on camera. I don’t remember anything about the actual filming other than having nervous butterflies. I’m no actress and I hate public speaking. And I really liked this boy. This was not news, though, EVERY girl in our class liked him. He was charming and flirtatious and funny and smart and, best of all, he was fresh meat. We attended a very small private pre-K- 12^th grade school and most of our classmates had been together since at least kindergarten. Eddie came along at the start of ninth grade. Throwing a new boy into the mix was like throwing one bone into a kennel with a dozen hungry dogs.   

Eddie was not just any boy. He was tall (a rarity among high school freshman) and tan and athletic and he was in the honors program with us. Sporty AND smart. He wasn’t going to stay single for long. All week I had been hearing things from other girls like, “You’re doing Romeo and Juliet with him? I would kill for that!” and “Do you think he’ll be in your bedroom?!”  I seriously doubted he would ever be allowed in my bedroom. I also seriously doubted he would ever like me. Sarcasm, bad hair, and diluted fashion sense I had in spades, but the ability to snag a popular boyfriend? Not so much.  

And yet, there we were an hour later. Maybe it was because Lauren was with us or because we were working on a school project, I don’t really know why. My parents had never allowed a boy in my bedroom before that and they never allowed it again, but that particular day we found the three of ourselves sitting on my bed, our project completed, waiting for my mom to finish doing whatever she was doing for my siblings until she could drive Lauren and Eddie home. The combination of boredom and adolescence only ever leads to one thing. So, naturally, we started playing Truth or Dare.

I always hated Truth or Dare, especially with boys. Answering the Truth questions was embarrassing and I was almost never brave enough to pick Dare. Lauren and Eddie took turns daring each other to do stupid things. After all, there are limited options in a teenage girl’s bedroom. “I dare you to try to squeeze into one of Steph’s shirts, Eddie.”  Or “I dare you to hold this binder clip on your nose for a full minute, Lauren.” Once it became clear that the dares weren’t going to be so bad, I felt a little braver. Also, I was willing Lauren with every fiber of my being to read my mind and dare him to kiss me or vice versa. She knew how much I liked him. Of course, like everyone, she liked him too, so that had about as much of a chance of happening as me daring him to kiss her.  

He looked at me and smiled.

“Steph? Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.”  The familiar anxiety started spreading in the pit of my stomach. Do not puke.

“I dare you to kiss…” Please say you. Do not say Lauren. Please say you. Please say you. Oh God, what if he does say him and he’s not talking about his mouth? I’m going to die. His eyes darted around my room, probably sensing my discomfort. There was a stuffed Dopey, the dwarf from Snow White, sitting on my pillow. “…Dopey.”

What? He’s daring me to kiss a stupid stuffed toy? Um…okay. That was the dumbest dare of all time. At least my anxiety was gone. I reached behind me, grabbed the toy, and gave it a quick kiss.   

 “That wasn’t much of a dare,” I teased him, finding my confidence again.

“Well…I’m pretty Dopey.” His eyes were kind and his tone was playful. Is he actually flirting with me?  

“You could kiss me?” He said it gently and looked directly at me with such sincerity. He was confident and sweet and clear in his intentions, but he asked like it was a question, as if he was putting the ball in my court and it was fine with him, whichever way I chose.

Holy crap. Did he just say that? Am I breathing?

I nodded slightly, titled my head, and leaned in to just one quick, awkward kiss between two teenagers.

One kiss that was the beginning of everything.  

Part 2