Saturday, November 22, 2014

The Objects of Our Affections

My brother Rex loved people. Even when they didn't love him back, he never really stopped caring for them.  He couldn't help it. In the book, I tell a story about how during high school Rex fell hard for a beautiful, popular cheerleader. There was no chance in h-e-double-hockey-sticks she was interested in my underdog brother, but he didn't give up until there was a show-down with the cheerleader and her football-playing goomba boyfriend with half the school watching. It was heart-breaking to witness. Public rejection of affection is harsh business.

 My brother wasn't the only one mystified by the nuances of love. I was just as clueless in the romance department as he was. From the first time I chased down cute third-grader Billy DeYoung, pinning him to the school playground, I realized an eternal truth. It wasn't hard to catch a boy, but what to do with him next was a real conundrum.

Rex and I both longed for love in all forms. Since we didn't get it from our home, we sought it out everywhere else. The part of my brother's high school romance that I didn't put in the book was the story of what I was doing the same year that he suffered the ultimate teenage rejection. While Rex was busy following the cheerleader like a puppy, I was stalking my own prey. There was a breath-takingly gorgeous boy at school. We didn't have any classes together because he was a year older than me. We did have the same lunch hour. He and his football buddies commanded the lunch table next to where I sat with my girlfriends while we all ate. He was so adorable, I had a hard time not staring at him. More than once he caught me looking at him and made an ugly face to discourage my attention. It didn't work. I was smitten.

For some reason that escapes me now, one day I decided Today Was the Day I was going to declare my adoration of him. At lunch the routine of us kids sitting at separate tables, ignoring each other went on as usual. I am going to speculate that Lori, one of cute girls at my table of smart, honor roll girls (I was the oddball in that group) was flirting with one of the boys at the table of my love. As the attention of the boys turned to our table, I got brave and in a burst of pent-up enthusiasm, I threw my mystery-meat lunch burrito at the back of the boy I adored. He turned his beautiful head of blonde hair to us and bellowed, "Who threw that at me?!" I sat silently while the girls all around pointed their fingers without hesitation right at me. He stood up, surrounded by his hulking athletic friends and towered over me, "What in the @#$%^* is wrong with you? Why did you throw your *&^%$ food at me?" His angry questions came at me hard and fast. My face turned beet red with embarrassment as I realized he missed my obvious attempt at showing affection.

His friends standing next to him suggested they beat me up. Whoa! This wasn't going at all how I planned it in my head. I thought he would good-naturedly get my joke and understand my sacrifice on his behalf. I willingly gave up my government-subsidized free lunch burrito for him, which was a big deal because I missed breakfast and wouldn't eat again until supper. I didn't give up food without a good reason and what could be better than sending the message, "You are too cute for words and I want to be your girlfriend"? Nothing. Nothing was better than finding true love over high school lunch period. He just needed a reason to really look at me, to see the pure intent of my heart and appreciate my most excellent inner qualities. I helped him out, giving him the reason he needed to find his destiny.

Unfortunately, his buddies didn't follow my romantic script. They threatened to do bodily injury to me for assalting their buddy and I got scared. I scrambled to my feet and took off running, with a pack of testosterone-fueled boys close on my heels. I broke a cardinal rule of high school lunch hour by ducking into a hallway of occupied classrooms, figuring if I could get to the the girls restroom they wouldn't follow me in there. The boys ignored the invisible blockade outside the girls bathroom and started to enter behind me. I panicked, realizing for the first time I might get hurt for real. Luckily, the boys were stopped by a no-nonsense female security officer who threatened to throw them in detention and get them kicked off the football team if they didn't leave immediately. I was saved.

The next day, the boy who I now not-so-secretly adored, came up to me before school and said, "Hey Heather (he knew my name! Yay!) I got into trouble yesterday because of you. I had to go home to change my shirt. I missed my afternoon classes and you ruined my t-shirt, so you owe me money for a new shirt." I stammered something about how I didn't have any money to give him, but I was sorry for his getting in trouble. He waved me off, saying, "Just stay away from me and keep your food to yourself."

That was the end of my interest in the most beautiful boy at school. Shortly thereafter, I found the book How to Win Friends and Influence People in the library and discovered a new, more rational way to approach the problem of how to get a boyfriend. The book had absolutely nothing to do with romance but was an excellent primer on basic social skills for those of us who had none. The book not only worked, (I landed my first real-life boyfriend before the end of the school year thanks to a well-placed sincere compliment,) but it gave me the confidence I needed to keep working on the most important goal of all; to love and be loved.


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I called my best friend Stephanie to ask if she remembered the burrito incident and what the boy's name was.  She definitely remembered. She was there that day. I could swear his name was Darrell. She looked through our old yearbook and she is certain it is the boy in the center photo, Darrin. I remember Darrin as being a friend of Darrell's and one of boys who chased me into the bathroom. I don't think he was The One. Or maybe I am confused and it was Darrin and Darrell was one of the guys who chased me. I dunno. To do my due diligence to you, my  dear reader, I called the only other person who might know about the burrito boy. My other best friend from high school, Mike, was no help at all. He asked, "Why would I know who you threw a burrito at? And why would you do that anyway?"
I said, "Because I adored him and that's how I showed my feelings, DUHHHH.  We were friends and I was hoping maybe you were there that day, or maybe I told you about it. Surely I talked to you about Darrell (or Darrin) and told you how much I liked him."
"No. I don't think so. I don't remember that at all."
"Really? You have no recollection of any boy I had a mad crush on at school?"

Before Mike could deny his knowledge again, I remembered instantly my friendship with him. I talked, I cried, I showed every emotion in the rainbow of girl's feelings to him and he always listened silently. I thought Mike was the world's most amazing guy friend because he never cut me off before I was done talking and that could take a while. Now that I've been married almost 30 years to Rob, a most fabulous man who goes silent when he's not listening, I understand what was going on with Mike. I was pouring out my soul to him and his mind was off wandering into la-la land, waiting for my emotional storm to pass so he could ask me for help with whatever he needed. He probably doesn't remember anything I've ever told him. Stupid boys. On the other hand, my secrets are safe with him because he wasn't even paying attention.
Mike did offer a bit of practical advice at the end of our phone conversation.
"Darrell, Darrin- what does it matter? Just tell the story without using his name and don't worry if you have the wrong picture. No one will care."
I gave up and sighed. "Yeah, you are probably right."
 What I really meant was, "Boys just don't get it."

The boy in the middle. Maybe. Darrell? Darrin? Who knows. 

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