However, I do realize that there is power in the written word and putting your goals out into the universe, so here are my updated blog goals for 2013:

It was our second year of college. I had gotten a scholarship to a small women’s college in Baltimore and moved in with my grandmother, the other love of my life, to be close to school and help her out when I could since she was getting up in age.

Eddie and my BFF Lauren had both chosen to go the University of Maryland. It was only an hour away, but it felt like a different world.  I would go up almost every weekend and stay in the dorms for one night. It was a welcome taste of freedom and gave us the chance to explore our relationship even further.

Eddie and I had been dating for over three years and we were legally adults now. We had a specific plan of action for our future. We had opened a joint savings account to save for it, although I was the only one contributing to that account because he hardly ever had extra cash, trying to put as much towards school as possible to reduce the amount of student loan debt we would have to take on when he graduated. We planned to get engaged during our junior year and marry after graduation. He bought a ring early so that he could make payments on it and have it paid in full by the time he gave it to me the following year. He hid it in a small box inside of a sock in the back of a drawer in his room at home.

Somehow his mom found the ring and his parents went ballistic. He got in a huge fight with his father and his mother drove him to back to the jewelry store and made a very public display demanding that the ring be returned because we were too young to make our own decisions. They claimed that I wasn’t the problem. They liked me well enough; they just wanted him to shop around a little more to make sure I was the best choice for him.  

I didn’t understand at all. I knew I wanted to be with him forever and it didn’t matter to me if we were only nineteen. There was never going to be anyone better for me. Waiting just for the sake of waiting didn’t make sense. It was like someone giving you a slice of cake and then trying to take it away saying, “We know you’re going to eat this cake eventually, but you shouldn’t eat it right now. Maybe you should put the cake away for a few years instead and try this tapioca pudding first.” I already knew that Eddie was my cake and I would be happy with cake every day for the rest of my life. Any other guy was just gross lumpy pudding and I didn’t want any. I had always been confident that he felt the same way.

But his faith in us was shaken by what he saw as logic. It started to become clear that he might need to try the stupid pudding first, just to make sure that he could handle cake every day after all.

“They do kind of have a point. How can we be sure that we are right for each other if that’s all we’ve known since we were fifteen? If you bought a shirt when you were fifteen, you probably wouldn’t want to be wearing the same thing when you are forty. Sometimes teenagers make the wrong choice. You know that.  If we separated for a little while I would know I was choosing you as an adult and for the right reasons. And it’s not like either one of us had a ton of options in high school, our school was so tiny. We should both see what else is out there so that we can make an informed decision.”

Tears rolled own my face, but somehow I was able to keep my voice steady and speak calmly, like I was brokering a business deal. “Fine. If you need space then you should take it. I think we should make it at least two months. I don’t want you to come back in a week, marry me, and leave again in a few years because you never got the chance to go exploring.” I spit out the final word with sarcastic bitterness.

Out of habit, when we said good-bye I said “I love you” without thinking.

“Maybe we shouldn’t say that right now.” I could hear the pain in his voice as he whispered it and I didn’t understand how he could possibly want to do this to both of us on purpose.

“Bye.”

I curled up on the bed in my grandmother’s spare room and gave in to silent heavy sobs. I didn’t know I could feel such intense physical pain just from a single conversation. I thought my heart might literally break from the cramping in my chest.

I grieved for a few days and then I got angry. Really angry. And also pretty shallow. How dare he? Did he actually think he was going to get anybody better than me?

I called my friend Ashley and told her that she better be ready for the most intense shopping trip of her life. I had just withdrawn every penny from our joint savings account (it was all my money anyway) and I was going to spend it all on making myself look fan-freaking-tastic to show him what he was missing. We drove all the way to the state capitol to the fanciest mall I knew and I dropped hundreds of dollars on a new slutty clubbing wardrobe.

 I started going to the gym for longer hours every day and I spent more money getting haircuts, waxes, and joining a tanning salon than I ever have. Manicures, pedicures, teeth whitening…I looked hot but I was still sad.

I only had one friend who could possibly understand what I was going through. The year before his long-term girlfriend had left him just before he was going to propose. He had been a close and trusted friend for almost ten years, my best guy friend outside of Eddie. He was away at a college several hours from home. I called him just to talk, but he knew right away that something was wrong.

“Steph? What’s the matter? Does Eddie know you’re calling me?” It was not a secret that Eddie wasn’t a huge fan of our friendship.

“He’s the problem.”

“Did he hurt you? Because I will f—ing kill him.” They really didn’t care much for each other.

“What? No. He wouldn’t. Not like that anyway. It’s just…he’s gone. And I know you know and…” the tears came again.

“Sh—. Look, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry. I can’t get home for a few weeks because of football. Could you come up here this weekend? We’re having a party after the game and it might help get your mind off of things. I’ll sleep on the floor and you can take my bed. We’ll talk after things quiet down.”  

I didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified. There had always been a spark between us, but we had ignored it for years because we were never single at the same time. Until now. I knew what was going to happen if I went. It was a long drive to make by myself, but it’s not like I had anything better to do and the whole point of this stupid separation was supposed to be to test the waters elsewhere.

“Ok.”

With just one word I felt like I was betraying my best friend. Because I was, but only because he told me that was what he wanted.

It was time to go exploring.

Part 8

This particular part of our love story is rated R and not intended for either of our mothers. Moms, we were both prefect all the time, I swear. Now stop reading. I’m serious. And don’t let any teenagers read this either.

Mom, if you are still reading, gouge out your eyeballs. You have been sufficiently warned.

It was August 2001 and I was at cheerleading camp. The sessions were over for the day and we were sitting in the stifling dorms, which did not have air conditioning. Every night we would pull our pillowcases out of the mini-frig in our room and settle in for girl talk.

“You’ve been with Eddie for how long now?”

“15 months.”

“That has to be, like, the longest relationship in the history of high school. I can’t believe you haven’t slept with him yet.”

“We’ve done…stuff.”

“Hand stuff under a blanket while you are watching tv doesn’t count. He’s a guy. They have needs. He’s not going to wait around forever. You always said you wanted to wait a year before you slept with a boyfriend. It’s been longer than that. Plus you love him.”

And that was the crux of the problem. Eddie was always respectful of my boundaries and never pushed me to do anything more than kiss, but we had been dating for a very long time and we were seniors now. We were among of the last of our peers still holding on to our virginity. Ironic, seeing as how we were two of the few in a committed, long-term relationship.  Virginity loss was a very hot topic of conversation and everybody’s was everybody else’s business.

I knew that according to the rules, we were supposed to get married first, but it seemed like a guideline that no one followed, like how people say you should to go to church every Sunday but magically all the pews are empty when it’s time for the Super Bowl.

I spent a great deal of time rationalizing the idea of sex. “When they wrote the Bible people got married at like age 13, we’d have already been married 3 years by now.” Or “In some cultures in other countries they don’t even have to go through a legal marriage, they just vow a commitment to each other and we’ve already done that. So, technically, we are totally already married in some remote African village somewhere.“  Or “I already know we are getting married eventually. So that means that our marriage will be still be ‘undefiled’ or whatever, no matter when we get started.” Or “Penguins don’t get married and God lets them have sex.” <—Deep thoughts from the hormone-driven brain of a teenage girl, right there.     

We weren’t afraid of STDs because we were both virgins. As terrible as it sounds, I wasn’t scared at all to get pregnant at 17. I already knew Eddie would be an amazing father one day. It was one of the things that made want to stay with him forever. I knew I was going to marry him and I knew that one day he wanted kids and he wanted them with me. I knew it in my gut like it was an indisputable fact. We were both smart enough to know that we wanted to get through college before we got married and started having babies and we thought knew enough to be able to prevent an unwanted pregnancy.  We talked about the possibility of an accidental pregnancy at length and we decided we both had enough skill sets to be able to find jobs and raise a baby together, although we realized it would be harder to do it as teenagers.  

Really, the only deterrent was our religion. Hence, all the time I spent rationalizing. Eventually my 17-year-old self decided that God made me a sinner and that was His own fault. Sex was a lot different than murder. Why should I sit around pre-meditating this kind of sin? It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission, especially from God. (Quite a thought process, no? Did I mention that I was a teenager?)

It wasn’t long before an opportunity presented itself. It was August 25^th. A good friend was house sitting and decided to throw a small party. I got permission to stay with her under the excuse that I wanted to keep her company so that she wouldn’t be lonely in an unfamiliar place or by herself overnight. I omitted the bit about the party, naturally. I had never given my parents any reason not to trust me, so they let me go.  

I finished my shift at my part-time job waitressing at IHOP and drove half an hour to the house.

Half of the senior class was already there drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade and Smirnoff Ice.  I was never a big drinker, but I thought I might need one that night. I accepted the bottle that someone handed to me and took tiny sips. The music was turned up too loud and our friends were starting to get rowdy.  I hate crowded spaces and I was getting desperate to get somewhere quiet.

Eddie appeared out of nowhere. He started over to meet me in the kitchen and as he walked through the room someone catcalled and waved a string of condoms in front of him, mockingly. He arched an eyebrow and accepted them. The roars of applause coming from our peers were thunderous.

“Holy s—! They’re finally going to do it!”

Ground, please swallow me now.

“Who wants to play strip air hockey?” Someone called up from the basement.

“I do,” I heard my own voice volunteering. Just get me out of this room. I’ll take my chances with the air hockey table.  

I am normally a more than decent air hockey player, but not that night. Every time I lost a piece of clothing I got more flustered and played worse. Eventually I found myself topless in a basement, surrounded by several of my drunk classmates. Not my proudest moment. At least I can rest in the knowledge that before I had children I was blessed with truly spectacular boobs and, thanks to that night, there are a few more people in this world who can attest to that fact.

 I was confident about my body. Between cheerleading, dance, tumbling lessons, and tennis I took really good care of it at the time. But I was embarrassed that so many people had already seen so much of it that evening.   

I put my clothes back on feeling like I should have had more to drink when I had the chance.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” I turned to Eddie, willing him to get me out of the extremely awkward situation I had put myself in.

Of course, that meant the catcalls from our peers started up again immediately.

He tried to lead me away from the chaos by heading upstairs to one of the bedrooms. Like a scene from a less funny version of American Pie, several of our so-called friends followed us and waited impatiently outside the door, banging and sticking their fingers through the crack between the door and the floor. They made idle threats to break in and take pictures. It was the epitome of class, obviously.  Everything I had always imagined it would be. Hearts and flowers all the way.

None of it mattered when he looked in my eyes.

“Are you ok? We don’t have to do this. We can just make some grunting noises for a few minutes and make them think we did so they will shut up.”

“I don’t want tonight to be about them.”

“Ok. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I really think I am.”

“You didn’t drink too much?”

“No, I only had one and I didn’t finish it.”

“You can always tell me to stop.”

And then I was on my back and looking up at him in wonder, kissing him and hearing him whisper “I love you.” Over and over again like a record stuck on the most soothing sound imaginable.

“Eddie?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Stop.”

Just look at these two love birds at the Senior Prom.

Part 6