Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Tired Twenty-Four

The October Memoir and Backstory Blog Challenge continues...

Tired Twenty-Four
When I was twenty-four, I wandered through school, trying to manage the classes I had. I began taking classes that were more fun and even toyed with a theater arts degree. I took Script Analysis and Poetry Presentation, but still never found my niche. I even tried Landscape Architecture and Environmental Planning.

I did take two classes that I loved, even though they were only 1 credit each. The were Ballroom Dance and Skiing.

The Ski class was awesome and a friend of mine and I scheduled our classes so that we could jump in his truck at 11:30a and head for Beaver Mountain. The ski class offered what essentially was a half-day ski pass. So we'd hit the slopes a couple hours before class and ski our hearts out. I got a lot better, but I think my knees would kill me if I tried it now.

When I took Ballroom Dance, I saw a stunning woman. I realized she had the same last name as a friend of mine from my fraternity, so asked her if she was related to him. To my surprise, she was his sister.

It took me about a week to find out if she was dating anyone seriously and then I asked her out. I really liked her and was having a blast... but there was one problem.

I was still attached to my previous girlfriend and I'm not the kind of guy that can kiss two different women in the same day.

See... my girlfriend wanted to date other people. I didn't, but I knew I had little choice in the matter. Then I met my friends sister and asked her out. Now my girlfriend was upset because I was dating, but she wasn't. I was having more fun with girl #2 and my relationship with girl #1 deteriorated until we broke up.

It was a rough break up and after it was over, I decided I needed a little time. But I didn't want to stop seeing this new girl. She was funny and a kind of beautiful that I knew was WAY outta my league. I enjoyed her company so I let things settle into a steady... something. We didn't hold hands. We never kissed. What we were were best friends. I cared more for her then anyone else... but it never progressed beyond that.

When I finally did make my move, she was comfortable with our friendship and didn't want more. She still wanted to date me, but wanted to date others as well. It crushed me. I thought I could take it, but remembrances of my Dear John returned to me and I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Our ships had passed each other unaware.

I began avoiding her because it was just too painful to be with her... but not BE with her. What finally boiled out can best be seen in the movie, My Best Friends Wedding, which came out a few years later. I swear someone knew our story and made it into a movie. My wife bawled and said I should have married my friend. Me? I wondered why life had to take so many painfully educational twists.



4 comments:

  1. A very poignant and gutsy story to write. I think many of us look back at "what if" decisions. I know I do. If I had just been a bit more willing to risk....

    I wonder if that was difficult for you to dig at again and put out there for public consumption. Brave you. Well-written too-- it held my interest.

    Do you still ski? ;)

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  2. Thanks Julie! It was a bit tough to go back to those days. It's given my wife and I some... interesting discussions. ;)

    But I figured those were what dominated my life at the time, and if I was going to be honest with writing my perception of what happened, I just needed to let it come out. It's still a bitter pill.

    I still consider myself a skier, but I haven't skied for at least 15 years. The powder still calls my name, so someday... :D

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  3. Good story about an awkward time of life.

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  4. I'm always wondering about the road I didn't take. I thought about my first boyfriend for years when my marriage was difficult - then, years later, I met him again and learned why I broke up with him so long ago. I wish I didn't second-guess myself so much.
    Jane Ann
    http://www.janeannmclachlan.com

    ReplyDelete

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