How to Crush Without Being Crushed

May of this year marks fifteen years since my high school graduation.

As anyone who even casually reads here knows, high school played a large role in setting the groundwork for who I am now. That all became very clear to me when the ten year mark was rolling around and I got involved in the planning of that reunion.

Well, that plan didn’t quite execute and here we are five years later, trying again.

For me, high school sucked. A lot. I was obsessed with relationships I wouldn’t ever do anything about. I secured my space as a social outcast by refusing to play by the standard rules. And I had the youthful audacity to blame my unhappiness on the world at large instead of my own choices.

If it was such a horrible time, you may ask, then why do you want to relive it?

Why? Because I firmly believe that only by facing our own shortcomings of the past–only by learning from those mistakes and remembering the lessons learned way back when–can we fully be ourselves now.

Over the last year or so, as I went back through an old hand-written journal or two from those dark high school days of the early 90s, I was reminded of many things I had let slip through the cracks of depression. There were good times back then, I just chose to remember the bad ones. Without a doubt, that gave me fuel for change, but the change it created was flawed and had trouble sticking.

Most of those skewed memories involved relationships, be they pining, one-sided, romantic ones or vibrant platonic ones. In the past decade and a half I’ve come to terms with a lot of that and become a happier person because of it.

One of the greatest joys has been reconnecting with those old crushes and seeing how their lives have turned out. Talking with them about the “not-so-good old days” is empowering. I have a chance to finally tell them what I wanted to say all those years ago.

“You know, back in high school, I had a huge crush on you.” Or, “You were one of the few bright spots in those dark days, thank you.”

It’s empowering. Perhaps more importantly, it’s allowing me to clear up a lot of fog in my own head… allowing me to see just how far I’ve come.

And I’m not the only one who’s come a long way. Just about everyone I’ve spoken with from that long ago and far away land of High School has grown into themselves. Sure, some are happier than others, and some, unfortunately, have fallen on hard times they could never have imagined fifteen years ago, but on average things are good.

They’re all still pretty recognizable, though. If not in face and body, then in attitude and presentation. Some things don’t change much, it seems.

Our core self is prepped in those formative high school years. They are the last time we share a common setting with a large group of our peers. The last time we regularly interact with the people we grew up with.

Love it or hate it, there’s no denying it was an important time for each of us.

It’s where we learned the rules and consequences of social interaction. It’s where we first loved and lost.

Where we first began to be ourselves.

So, here I am, fifteen years out and still learning from the experiences of those four years.

I think we can all learn a lot by taking some time, every now and then, and looking back.

At the absolute least, it lets us know that, if we’ve made it this far, we can probably keep going a bit more.

Tags: firsts

That first time she walks in through the door and catches your eye.

Maybe you’ve seen her before, she seems familiar, doesn’t she? Or maybe not. It makes no difference. This is the first time you’ve seen her quite… like… that.

Perfection.

Or at least as close as humanly possible. At least as far as you’re concerned. From across the room.

The light catches her hair as she smiles and talks with friends. (Did she just glance over at you?) You look away, grinning like a fool, but find your gaze drawn back again and again. (Wait, is she doing the same thing?) Try as you might, you can’t rid yourself of the grin or the drift in your attention.

She walks and you see how she moves. There is grace there.

Your mind rushes to fill the knowledge void with numerous details of her life. All, of course, fictional.

She must be brilliant. Or an artist. Maybe she’s on the executive track somewhere. Or maybe a teacher. You can’t choose just one, so you choose them all. She is a Renaissance Woman! She would have so much in common with you. Things would work out wonderfully… there would never be a dull moment in conversation. And she’d challenge you to keep up with her.

Your feel light headed. There’s a not unpleasant flutter in your chest and a not pleasant one in your gut.

What if you’re not good enough for her? What if she laughs at you? What if… what if…

No. Wait. Of course she’ll accept you. Look at her! Even now that she’s closer she still looks perfect. Now you can hear her voice, it sounds kind. And fun.

And so go those first moments. They may last actual moments or they may go on for hours, days, weeks, months or years. How? Because those moments of total imaginary facets of that “perfect woman” don’t end until you do something.

Those first moments are wonderful times full of creativity and imagination. They make you feel like you’re on top of the world (when they’re not making you doubt yourself, at least). They are one of the best parts of a fresh crush.

But they are only supposed to be moments. Stretch them out too long or never move forward at all and you miss the best part of a crush–the part where reality and fantasy mix.

That part starts when you do something.

That something is usually as simple as saying “Hi.”

Tags: fantasy, firsts

The trip up had been a little frustrating. Nerves were wracked while we prepared. The prom itself was lovely. The first night ended in a missed opportunity. The second day found that opportunity realized as I had my first real kiss.

The weekend, as a whole, was fantastic. At the time, it was the best weekend I ever had.

But there was something uneasy about it, sitting not too far beneath the surface. Some sort of doubt. Most of the confusion during the weekend was mine.

But not all of it.

On the last day, before Matt and I made the trip back down to our corner of the state, we decided to do one last round of lunch and spending time together with the girls.

The original plan called for pizza, that was almost thwarted when a very stressed greeter at the Little Caesars Pizza informed us they were having “some problems.” The residual smell of smoke told us the rest of the story. Luckily, there was a Pizza Hut nearby that served as a suitable substitute.

We took some pizza to go and found ourselves a spot in a local park by the river. Matt and Dawn soon went off to entertain one another. Vicki and I wandered to the playground we had passed coming in. We held hands and kissed, but mostly we talked.

That was when I found out where that other current of confusion was coming from.

It seems that there was another guy she had been interested in for a while. The fact that I showed up in her life had kind of complicated things a bit. It seems she kind of liked us both.

This revelation both elated and devastated me. It was wonderful to be “in the running” for someone’s affections, but even back then I knew I stood little chance of “winning.” I was six hours away and he was in the next town over. But, it seemed, he may already have a girlfriend. But, again, I was six hours away.

The conversation didn’t go much past that point. As our time together grew short, we chose to focus on other things. More pleasant things.

Before long, it was without question time for Matt and I to head for our own homes. Goodbyes were reluctantly exchanged.

I don’t remember much of the ride back. I’d imagine it was much the same as the ride up there had been. A lot of Desperado playing on the mostly broken radio. Some bad jokes. But mostly a lot of silence and a lot of time to bask in the overall glory of the weekend.

It would be another month before I saw Vicki again. We talked sporadically and wrote back and forth. This being before everyone and their grandmother had e-mail, the letters were all handwritten or typed and sent via regular mail. I still have all the ones I received. (I still have all the letters I’ve received from anyone.)

We didn’t discuss a whole lot what the deal between the two of us was. I really didn’t want it resolved, though I told myself I’d be good with whatever she wanted. I wanted things to last between us. I wanted there to be an ongoing romantic relationship.

Why? Because that’s what I had always wanted with anyone. The lesson of a few months earlier–that what one wants isn’t always what’s right, let alone what’s best and most certainly not always what is–faded into the background of my daydreams and hopes.

I was reminded how disconnected I could get from reality in July when we got together again for the 49th Annual Key Club International Convention in Toronto.

The trip up was by bus. For most of that trip, she barely said three words to me. That, of course, confused the hell out of me. The whole convention was an amazing experience, but the one pertinent lesson came when Vicki and I finally talked.

While I had been stuck in my fantasy world, she had moved on. She had realized that something romantic wasn’t going to work–not just due to the distance, but due to the fact that she just didn’t really feel that way about me.

Upon hearing that, something in the depths of my mind lit up. The first thing it illuminated was the last lesson I had learned. The second thing brought to light, glowed like a beacon. It was a new lesson, a new reality.

Accept things that you can’t change. Revel in what is or let it go.

For the rest of that trip, that’s exactly what I did. Vicki, Dawn and I had fantastic times on that trip. I also met a number of new and exciting people, some of whom I stayed in touch with for years. It was an adventure, without question. Those conventions always were.

I would see Dawn again the following year at the New York State District Convention. It wouldn’t be until my third year in college that I’d see Vicki again. We kept in touch, though. In fact, we still keep in touch.

She’s now one of my oldest friends of the group that I never went to school with. I’ve taken great pleasure in hearing the wonderful turns her life has taken and been there to offer support when those turns haven’t been so wonderful. There’s no tension between us, even though we have what some would call a “history.” It was long ago and far away.

It brought us together so we could be friends. That prom and everything that followed it were just the proving grounds for that friendship. Both of us learned about intimacy a bit, we learned to share our thoughts and be open and honest our feelings–no matter how much it hurt or how confused we were. I learned to accept reality, to be happy for the joy I had and not pine for what could have been. (Granted, that’s a lesson that didn’t stick the first few times, but we all have learning curves, right?)

The prom is the next to last great communal event of our shared high school experience. Whether we went to it or not, we learned something from it. High school is funny like that. So many chances to learn lessons, and so few of the important ones come from classes.

At my best prom, I learned not how to dance, but how to live.

Tags: firsts

June 5th of 1992 was by far one of the most insanely adventurous and potential-filled days of my life up to that point.

I was hundreds of miles from home on a weekend-long double date that kicked off with a prom. They girl had asked me and things were going wonderfully. The night even wrapped up at the town’s version of Inspiration Point.

It was also one of those nights that proved I am the king of missed opportunities.

The night ended not with the make-out session most would expect (that was all confined to the front of the car) but with Vicki and I talking. About what, I can’t even begin to remember.

Matt and I returned to the place we were staying and the girls went home. There were plans the next day for breakfast. They were put off in favor of having some fun helping clean up after the prom. It really was a lot more fun than it sounds. Especially since it gave me a chance to reclaim any ground I may have lost the night before. I do much better in active situations, it gives me material to work with.

The morning stretched into afternoon and we grabbed some burgers for lunch and had a nice walk along the river. We caught a movie (Encino Man, which I still think is pretty darn funny). At least Vicki and I caught the movie. Our two companions spent most of their time attached at the lips. Vicki and i left holding hands.

That evening, we did what was perhaps the least traditional thing to do on a date–we headed out to a Lion’s Club dinner and Honor Society induction ceremony. Dawn was being inducted, so it wasn’t completely random. And there was food. But it most certainly did not satisfy the fun quotient for the evening.

We decided we were in the mood for another movie. But not one in the theaters. So we made the trip back to Vicki’s place, grabbed a video and high-tailed it to Dawn’s to watch it. Just as we were ready to settle in, parents appeared to let us know the guys were expected to be gone by 11 p.m.

It was about 10:30 when we heard that. Needless to say, the idea of watching the movie was scrapped.

But other ideas crept in.

As soon as her parents were off to bed, Dawn and Matt got right down to making out some more.

Me? I talked. I always talk. Sometimes it gets in the way. It’s a result of perceived pressure–a release of nervous energy. When your a guy in high school, there’s a lot of both to go around. Especially where girls are involved. Even more so if you’re awkward to begin with. Social outcast? Triple the amount. Had to recently break someone’s heart and still didn’t understand why? You can’t even measure that.

At that point it’s less talk and more just senseless babble. It may not even have been words. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t sentences. I could feel my brain just spinning and my mouth spewing out whatever fell loose. Each movement just upped the anxiety more. Each half-formed thought added to the internal tension.

I knew I was making a fool of myself. I knew that someone with more social grace would know what to do to make things better. I knew I was close to just imploding… to just vanishing right there for lack of a reason to continue existing.

And then it happened.

I’m not sure how. But it did. Somehow, during all that babble, Vicki and I had moved closer and closer together. Somewhere along the way, we had both leaned in. At some point the words stopped.

We kissed just before 11 p.m. that night.

For a moment, everything stopped. All noise in my head faded away. There was nothing in the universe but her and I. Eternity could have come and gone for everyone and I would not have noticed.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been kissed. But it was my first kiss. It was the first kiss I had initiated. The first one I willingly entered into. And, for me, it was perfect.

Then, moments or days later, that kiss ended and I had to leave.

The next morning kicked off our final day. A day of closeness and distance, of revelation and the beginning of a new journey. A day… I’ll talk about more next time.

Tags: firsts, kiss

(Telling this story here seems to invite long-ish pauses. That’s a wee bit unfortunate, since it’s really not that long of a story. If you’ve forgotten, part one and part two, go back and read them.)

As the dust from the stupefying trip up and the nerves of really meeting my date for the first time wore off and smoothed out, I really began to enjoy myself. It struck me as yet another example of how I’m happiest away from the town I grew up in. I’ve had the best luck of my life finding people when either I’m out of town or they’re from out of town.

It wouldn’t be until years later that I’d realize the main reason for that was the lack of pressure–the lack of expectations–from people who just plain didn’t know me. Growing up in a small town, that pressure to behave the way people expect was always there. Step out of line, and it would only be a matter of time before word of it made it back to your parents. Everyone knew everyone and the all talked.

Or at least it seemed that way.

There, five or so hours away from all but one person who knew me (and Matt really didn’t know me all that well), I could be myself. No matter how awkward, quirky or outlandish I was.

And so, with dinner behind us and a decent camaraderie forming, it was time to head off to the prom.

The prom was being held in the high school. The gym or cafeteria was all done up in ribbons, crepe paper, glitter and balloons. (Not quite as lavishly decked out as my junior prom had been, but my class was full of very creative over-achievers, so we were always a bad yardstick to measure others by.) It was very nice.

It was also very empty.

Seems in our anxiousness, we arrived a bit early.

Good use was made of that time, though. The girls gave us a tour of the darkened school and introduced us to the people who were there. Time passed and the floor filled with more people. Music started and the prom officially began.

There was plenty of time for talking and laughing. Some little things still make me chuckle today. I had quickly noticed that most of the guys at the prom had close cropped hair. Not uncommon for rural areas that weren’t all that trendy. I still think my school had an abnormally large number of long-haired freaks–be they the stoners or the metal-heads.

Suffice to say, I was quite surprised to see another long-haired dude standing in line behind me one time as I was procuring some punch.

“You’re not from around here, either, are you?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said with a smile.

We both got a good laugh out of that.

Before long the first slow song of the night drifted across the speakers.

Vicki and I danced, awkwardness returning briefly, not sure of what was proper or expected. We chatted and swayed. I was soon so caught up that I didn’t quite notice the song had ended. Before either of us had the chance to do more than consider changing partners (after all, who was I to keep her from dancing with other friends of hers), another slow song kicked in. We danced again, more confident in our awkward sway, comfort with one another reclaiming ground.

Again we all wandered the darkened halls. More slow songs found us switching partners, most I chose to sit out and just watch the crowd. Unlike so many dances before, though, I watched it happily. There was no longing, no pain. Just a certain sense of contentment that I would try for years to reclaim.

The night moved on and I discovered a prom tradition I had never heard of before. It seems, at least in that particular area, prom dresses come with a garter, not unlike the ones you find with wedding dresses. I was told that the common practice was, by the end of the night, for the guy to end up with the garter and for the girl to end up with his bow tie.

Interesting, to say the least.

Interesting and terrifying to be more accurate.

How was the exchange made? In my case, it was done gingerly and with much trepidation. Nothing so elaborate or suggestive as you’d see at a good wedding, that’s for sure. But the exchange was made and another layer of discomfort fell away.

Being a prom, more slow dances ensued. Vicki and I danced many of them together. Each time we danced, the distance between us shrank. Even though I had danced with girls before, it had never lasted long enough–or been part of such a wonderful progression–for the awkwardness to fade and make way for the pure joy of it all.

That closeness is something I spent way too long trying to re-create. It happened, eventually, but not until years later and never again on a dance floor. There was something magical about that night… something that made me believe that all the hype about the importance of The Prom may actually be true.

In the background of my bliss, the king and queen of the prom were crowned. Soon the last song of the night played and Vicki and I left, never getting farther from one another than we needed to.

A quick run back to Dawn’s house let us shrug out of our respective tuxes and elaborate dresses and into more comfortable clothing. The night wasn’t over and we were far from done with it.

A short drive in the care brought the four of us to a spot over-looking the river. I remember lights reflecting off the water (though I cannot tell you what they were. Perhaps they were from the town, perhaps from a nearby highway). The sky I remember was clear and full of stars (though it may have been slightly cloudy).

In a sense, it was exactly like you’d expect the perfect ending to the perfect night to be.

Matt and Dawn quickly moved from talking to doing other things to keep their mouths occupied. I watched as their profiles, in silhouette, became one, blocking the view of the river and lights.

And in the back seat… in the back seat Vicki and I gently and carefully…

…talked until we all had to head home.

After all, we had to get some rest for what we all had planned for the next day.

Tags: firsts