When I was in grade 6 I met a boy. A boy for whom I instantly had the most all consuming crush that a 12 year old can have. It carried on through grades 7 & 8 where I joined all the clubs that he did (to this day though, please don’t ask me to play chess!) and made friends with his friends.
His parents owned a restaurant that he had been working in after school and on weekends since he was about 9. Every Saturday and some Sundays I would tag along with our now mutual friend Mike, and sit at the counter in the restaurant for a couple of hours watching wresting or some other such “sport” but mostly watching my Steve watch wrestling or serve club sandwiches and fries.
Ah but he was so cute! He was kinda short – well shorter than I was but I was tall. He was kinda chubby – but so was I. Blonde, and Greek (which I was NOT) – very adorable. I followed him everywhere.
The summer of grade 8 he was dating Shelly. Meh, she wasn’t much to look at and as sharp as a pillow. But blessing of blessings for me she went away for half of the summer! That freed up Steve’s time to hang out with me!
Normally I would have used the fact that my family had a swimming pool to woo him but he has this terrifying fear of water. He wouldn’t even take baths. When he was 7 he and is friend were walking across the river to school and he watched his friend fall through the ice on the river and drown in front of him. He was a troubled soul…..how cool. Instead, I wooed him with my charm. I was always a funny chick – and he liked that – so we hung out. I also had big boobs from the time I was about 11 – so that helped. It certainly didn’t hurt.
One night after we had walked and talked for hours and hours I flat out said, “why CAN’T you like me the same way that you like Shelly?” I needed to know. He stood there, in front of a stop sign banging his head against it. “I just can’t” he said and we left it at that.
In the middle of grade nine the dynamic changed again. Steve started dating the girl that sat next to me in home room – Jennifer. Each night after school, Steve and Jennifer and Mike and I would walk home together. We would stop behind the abandoned gas station and Steve and Jennifer would make out for what, in my head, seemed like forever. Mike and I would chat – or should I say Mike would chat about comic books and science fiction and I would occasionally nod my head or grunt in acknowlegement. I tried not to watch – I really did because it gutted me.
It wasn’t as if Jennifer didn’t KNOW that I adored him. She did. And she would tell me things that I didn’t really want to ever hear. She told me that when they were necking she would reach down and feel him through his jeans. If I’d known then what I know now, I could have told her that she was totally full of shit. Chance would be a fine thing to find his miniscule penis through jeans.
My relationship with Jennifer lasted no longer than her relationship with him. I did my level best to see that that ended as much as I could. My maciavellian tendancies were h
Jennifer met a boy at the family trailer one weekend (yes – I said trailer). She cheated on MY Steve. As soon as I heard this I went to Steve. “Jennifer is cheating on you and I’m sure she’s going to break up with you – you should dump her first.” Then I ran right on back to Jennifer and said “Steve just told me he was going to break up with you – are you going to take that?” Boom. That was all it needed.
Steve and I stayed friends. I skipped ahead a grade in high school. He played football and joined the student council. I edited the school paper and graduated a year early. I moved away to go to University in Toronto.
One weekend when I came home to visit my parents, we met up to take yet another walk around the river. As we were headed home he asked me if I had any boyfriends now that I had moved away. Of course I had – I’m not a complete loser. But, I was smart enough to say “no one like you.”
He was smart enough to take that opportunity to reach up and kiss me – because by that time, fully grown I was 5’10” and he was 5’7”. I made a mental note to kiss him sitting down from then on.
It is hard for me to describe that kiss – not my first but my first big kiss. It was like a wave washed over me. Almost like when you feel the colour drain from you right before you throw up. Perhaps that isn’t the most appropriate analogy but, it was an actual physical feeling of having my insides turn to jello. Just jello.
We kissed a bit more and he walked me home. We kissed a bit more and he left. I remember what he was wearing – what I was wearing – the time of year – I remember everything about that day. It was a mythological awakening for me – as hokey as that sounds.
So, things carried on, he went away to university. I dropped out in second year and got a job in Toronto. I still came home the odd weekend. Strangely we didn’t ever seem to be free the same weekends.
To say his parents didn’t like me would perhaps be the understatement of the century. They were forever throwing down the phone when I called and screaming at him in greek. He told me not to worry about it but, I tended to wait until he called me. Once, that year, I sent him a letter (back in the day when people still did that kind of thing). According to him, his parents took it, opened it, and grounded him.
So what’s wrong with me? I’m not Greek. I’m a fat girl and I’m not Greek. That’s it.
In spite of that, we did hook up in the winter of what should have been his second year of university. He had dropped out too. He didn’t fit in at University, had tried to hurt himself and had in the fine Greek approach to mental health been sent away to family in Greece and England to recover his senses. Whatever they did, it seemed to work. He seemed back to himself although he did talk about his feelings, which in and of itself was a miracle.
He and I finally managed to coordinate weekends at home. He would have dinner with his family and then say he was going out for a drive. He would pick me up (no given time you see because it couldn’t be a date).
Many a night I sat by the door waiting and waiting and he never showed. He would call me the next week when he was back at school. He couldn’t get away – family showed up – couldn’t think of an excuse. I always forgave him in spite of myself. It was a Romeo and Juliet scenario that fed my need for drama.
Steve’s parents had bought him a little red sports car. It was an amazing car for a 20 year old to drive! It was their bribery gift to him to encourage him to lose weight. If you lose weight we will give you a sports car. So he lied and told them that he had lost weight and he got a car.
It was on our rides in that car that we finally made it past just making out. I was still at the point where if he opened my front door my insides went completely to jello. Hearing his voice on the phone sent me over the edge. His presence had a physical effect on me – as I’ve said before – in spite of myself. And in spite of the fact that he was one of the most selfish and uncaring lovers ever in the history of the planet – it worked for me and I sought him out whenever I could.
One night, driving back in the dead of winter from some lonely country road in what may have been the storm of the century, the car started to spin while we went around a huge turn on the way back in to town. I was terrified – he was terrified. And as we pulled out of the spin and back on to the road, he said, “My mother would never forgive me if I died with you.” Somehow to him it would be better to die alone than have his mother discover him with me.
But, things carried on, he was at the University of Windsor and I went to Western. At this point, his father was bribing him to date a girl who also went to Western. Bribing because he would give him $100 to take this girl to dinner and a movie and woo her. She was a medical student and Greek, from a good family.Steve did his duty like a good son. He took his money, picked up the girl, took her to dinner at the Olive Garden, pocketed the remaining $75 and came to my apartment. We never went out.
Time passed and these liaisons became less frequent as we both went on with other people. We still talked – whenever we could get away with no one else knowing.Several years later I stopped by his family’s restaurant. It was a Saturday and he was working in the kitchen all alone about to close up for the day. We were just talking – a lot had happened and we were catching up. I couldn’t help myself. Although we both had other people in our lives by that point – he got his doctor – I kissed him again. It was the same old jello insides feeling. It never left.
And then the unimaginable happened. His Dad walked in. We flew apart. His father said something in Greek and turned around and left. I begged Steve to tell me what he said.
Apparently, many years ago his father had somehow found out that we were seeing each other. Then, he had told Steve: “Fucking a fat girl is like riding a mo-ped. Its feels great until someone sees you – then its humiliating.” That day he caught us himself he told Steve, “I’ve seen you. You should be humiliated.”
Since we parted that day we kept in touch sporadically. He went to my wedding. I went to his. His parents were sunshine and light to me at the wedding mostly because I was pregnant at the time and brought my husband – they knew their baby was safe from me. We talk occasionally – once every 5 years or so, but I still look for him whenever I pass his parents house or the restaurant.
I truly believe that whatever lovers or friends have come before or after him that he was my first case of the perfect blend of friendship and lust. I’ve never ever had that inside jello feeling since. I’m not sure if it was passion or masochism – but I loved it either way.
His parents owned a restaurant that he had been working in after school and on weekends since he was about 9. Every Saturday and some Sundays I would tag along with our now mutual friend Mike, and sit at the counter in the restaurant for a couple of hours watching wresting or some other such “sport” but mostly watching my Steve watch wrestling or serve club sandwiches and fries.
Ah but he was so cute! He was kinda short – well shorter than I was but I was tall. He was kinda chubby – but so was I. Blonde, and Greek (which I was NOT) – very adorable. I followed him everywhere.
The summer of grade 8 he was dating Shelly. Meh, she wasn’t much to look at and as sharp as a pillow. But blessing of blessings for me she went away for half of the summer! That freed up Steve’s time to hang out with me!
Normally I would have used the fact that my family had a swimming pool to woo him but he has this terrifying fear of water. He wouldn’t even take baths. When he was 7 he and is friend were walking across the river to school and he watched his friend fall through the ice on the river and drown in front of him. He was a troubled soul…..how cool. Instead, I wooed him with my charm. I was always a funny chick – and he liked that – so we hung out. I also had big boobs from the time I was about 11 – so that helped. It certainly didn’t hurt.
One night after we had walked and talked for hours and hours I flat out said, “why CAN’T you like me the same way that you like Shelly?” I needed to know. He stood there, in front of a stop sign banging his head against it. “I just can’t” he said and we left it at that.
In the middle of grade nine the dynamic changed again. Steve started dating the girl that sat next to me in home room – Jennifer. Each night after school, Steve and Jennifer and Mike and I would walk home together. We would stop behind the abandoned gas station and Steve and Jennifer would make out for what, in my head, seemed like forever. Mike and I would chat – or should I say Mike would chat about comic books and science fiction and I would occasionally nod my head or grunt in acknowlegement. I tried not to watch – I really did because it gutted me.
It wasn’t as if Jennifer didn’t KNOW that I adored him. She did. And she would tell me things that I didn’t really want to ever hear. She told me that when they were necking she would reach down and feel him through his jeans. If I’d known then what I know now, I could have told her that she was totally full of shit. Chance would be a fine thing to find his miniscule penis through jeans.
My relationship with Jennifer lasted no longer than her relationship with him. I did my level best to see that that ended as much as I could. My maciavellian tendancies were h
Jennifer met a boy at the family trailer one weekend (yes – I said trailer). She cheated on MY Steve. As soon as I heard this I went to Steve. “Jennifer is cheating on you and I’m sure she’s going to break up with you – you should dump her first.” Then I ran right on back to Jennifer and said “Steve just told me he was going to break up with you – are you going to take that?” Boom. That was all it needed.
Steve and I stayed friends. I skipped ahead a grade in high school. He played football and joined the student council. I edited the school paper and graduated a year early. I moved away to go to University in Toronto.
One weekend when I came home to visit my parents, we met up to take yet another walk around the river. As we were headed home he asked me if I had any boyfriends now that I had moved away. Of course I had – I’m not a complete loser. But, I was smart enough to say “no one like you.”
He was smart enough to take that opportunity to reach up and kiss me – because by that time, fully grown I was 5’10” and he was 5’7”. I made a mental note to kiss him sitting down from then on.
It is hard for me to describe that kiss – not my first but my first big kiss. It was like a wave washed over me. Almost like when you feel the colour drain from you right before you throw up. Perhaps that isn’t the most appropriate analogy but, it was an actual physical feeling of having my insides turn to jello. Just jello.
We kissed a bit more and he walked me home. We kissed a bit more and he left. I remember what he was wearing – what I was wearing – the time of year – I remember everything about that day. It was a mythological awakening for me – as hokey as that sounds.
So, things carried on, he went away to university. I dropped out in second year and got a job in Toronto. I still came home the odd weekend. Strangely we didn’t ever seem to be free the same weekends.
To say his parents didn’t like me would perhaps be the understatement of the century. They were forever throwing down the phone when I called and screaming at him in greek. He told me not to worry about it but, I tended to wait until he called me. Once, that year, I sent him a letter (back in the day when people still did that kind of thing). According to him, his parents took it, opened it, and grounded him.
So what’s wrong with me? I’m not Greek. I’m a fat girl and I’m not Greek. That’s it.
In spite of that, we did hook up in the winter of what should have been his second year of university. He had dropped out too. He didn’t fit in at University, had tried to hurt himself and had in the fine Greek approach to mental health been sent away to family in Greece and England to recover his senses. Whatever they did, it seemed to work. He seemed back to himself although he did talk about his feelings, which in and of itself was a miracle.
He and I finally managed to coordinate weekends at home. He would have dinner with his family and then say he was going out for a drive. He would pick me up (no given time you see because it couldn’t be a date).
Many a night I sat by the door waiting and waiting and he never showed. He would call me the next week when he was back at school. He couldn’t get away – family showed up – couldn’t think of an excuse. I always forgave him in spite of myself. It was a Romeo and Juliet scenario that fed my need for drama.
Steve’s parents had bought him a little red sports car. It was an amazing car for a 20 year old to drive! It was their bribery gift to him to encourage him to lose weight. If you lose weight we will give you a sports car. So he lied and told them that he had lost weight and he got a car.
It was on our rides in that car that we finally made it past just making out. I was still at the point where if he opened my front door my insides went completely to jello. Hearing his voice on the phone sent me over the edge. His presence had a physical effect on me – as I’ve said before – in spite of myself. And in spite of the fact that he was one of the most selfish and uncaring lovers ever in the history of the planet – it worked for me and I sought him out whenever I could.
One night, driving back in the dead of winter from some lonely country road in what may have been the storm of the century, the car started to spin while we went around a huge turn on the way back in to town. I was terrified – he was terrified. And as we pulled out of the spin and back on to the road, he said, “My mother would never forgive me if I died with you.” Somehow to him it would be better to die alone than have his mother discover him with me.
But, things carried on, he was at the University of Windsor and I went to Western. At this point, his father was bribing him to date a girl who also went to Western. Bribing because he would give him $100 to take this girl to dinner and a movie and woo her. She was a medical student and Greek, from a good family.Steve did his duty like a good son. He took his money, picked up the girl, took her to dinner at the Olive Garden, pocketed the remaining $75 and came to my apartment. We never went out.
Time passed and these liaisons became less frequent as we both went on with other people. We still talked – whenever we could get away with no one else knowing.Several years later I stopped by his family’s restaurant. It was a Saturday and he was working in the kitchen all alone about to close up for the day. We were just talking – a lot had happened and we were catching up. I couldn’t help myself. Although we both had other people in our lives by that point – he got his doctor – I kissed him again. It was the same old jello insides feeling. It never left.
And then the unimaginable happened. His Dad walked in. We flew apart. His father said something in Greek and turned around and left. I begged Steve to tell me what he said.
Apparently, many years ago his father had somehow found out that we were seeing each other. Then, he had told Steve: “Fucking a fat girl is like riding a mo-ped. Its feels great until someone sees you – then its humiliating.” That day he caught us himself he told Steve, “I’ve seen you. You should be humiliated.”
Since we parted that day we kept in touch sporadically. He went to my wedding. I went to his. His parents were sunshine and light to me at the wedding mostly because I was pregnant at the time and brought my husband – they knew their baby was safe from me. We talk occasionally – once every 5 years or so, but I still look for him whenever I pass his parents house or the restaurant.
I truly believe that whatever lovers or friends have come before or after him that he was my first case of the perfect blend of friendship and lust. I’ve never ever had that inside jello feeling since. I’m not sure if it was passion or masochism – but I loved it either way.
2 comments:
WOW!!!
Sometimes young love - even though it's dismissed as "puppy love" - is the most real kind of all.
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