It's hard for me to admit-- The things I've done wrong so early in my romantic lifetime. But, as I live my life, why not allow others in? Why not let them see how one becomes a bad girlfriend?
If you happened to be on the outside looking in on my boyfriend, S., and I, it would probably seem as though we both are very, very lucky people. I'm not trying to be dramatic here, we are a strange coupling, here's what I mean. S. is about six feet tall, and then some, overweight for his age, balding premeturely, and wears some of the scariest, baggiest, most hoboesque clothes you've ever laid your eyes upon. It's funny how most people don't notice the two azure crystals through which that boy's soul sees the world. He's strong, charming, kind, and empathetic. One of a dying breed. I'm far less stunning. Boring, really. Barely five feet tall, overweight, my shaggy brown collar-bone length hair not doing much to accentuate anything. I dress in a vast array of ways-- a concept which I jokingly blame on my "actress's soul". I'm quiet, discrete, and logical. Like I said, boring. Now, you may not see where I'm going with this, and to be blatently honest-- I'm not sure either. (It'll be an adventure, won't it?) Just be patient. I'll begin at the beginning...
About a month into the school year and I was clinging my the skin of my teeth to anyone I might know during the demanded social hour at school. You might know it as lunch. I grabbed my stereotypical juice-like beverage from the vending machine and sat down in the hallway with a small group of freshmen, several of which I remembered vaguely from my 8th grade year.
"Come sit."
Turn up the volume on my IPod. They're not talking to me, why accidently listen in on a conversation?
"You, with the foot tapping. Come sit." ... "Hellooo?"
Pause both my foot's heart-beat tapping and my music which had faded into something along the lines of white noise. I looked up, and there they were. Those eyes, and a smile. Small talk was made, laughs shared.
Lunches like these continued about once a week for two or three more weeks. S and I had become good aquaintences and I really wanted a friend. Did I mention he was charming? So I did the only thing I ever seem to be able to do with any confidence, and wrote him a note asking if he would be interested in joining me and another nerdy girl I'd known for some time at the local rollerrink on the weekend. I gave it to him and-- waited. As I found out at the end of the day, is that he had my intentions with that note misunderstood. He replied to me with a shake of the head and the statement "I don't want to date you, but can I still go rollerskating on Saturday?" Dating? That was an option?
We had a blast that weekend, and we began hanging out more and more outside of school. We were even both in drama club, the perfect excuse to hang out afterschool three days a week. Until the day that some God foresaken club sold Carnations as a fundraiser and an estatic S. bounded up to me waving both a flower and the exclaimation "Bri asked me to Semi!" in my face. Bri? My Bri? The girl I was a cheerleader with for eight years? The girl we see every day in drama club? That Bri!?
I was no longer S.'s best drama friend. No. He would now spend his time off stage entranced in conversation with her. We would still hang out after drama, but as the days went by I grew more jealous of Bri than I had ever been in my life. My hurt grew stronger, and the night of the Junior Semi-Formal came, and I recieved the most painful text message of my life.
From: S**** J******
I asked Bri out.
By the time a week had passed I was in an emotional slump. How was it that I could be so in love with someone for three months, and they wouldn't even care? I asked him one day after drama while we sat in a deserted hallway why he was treating me this way. There was a long pause and he spoke. "You'll love me forever. But Bri won't. I have to date Bri now-- But we won't last. You and I will." On the outside I remained calm, poised, showing little (if any) emotion. Trying SO HARD to be understanding. While in my mind, I had just been slapped. To me it was as though he was saying I was nothing more than a back-up, a second choice.
January 2nd was the day I officially became the "other woman". Now that isone role I'd hoped not to play. S. and I had had several "sleepovers" which were basically nights filled with joking innuendo and constant reminders to S. that he "can't say that" due to his girlfriend. Most of these nights were simply evenings where the the end of films were never seen all thanks to the timing of internal clocks, and snores eminated from S.'s side of the couch. This evening, though, we were wide awake and S. was taunting me, trying to find the spots on my body that, if touched, cause me to squeal like a little girl. On this night, there was no room on the couch for even the Holy Spirit to sit between us. Prods and jabs became gentle touches and small pecks on the cheek. When his mother called for him to go to his room he left, and I felt very alone in that very large basement. So when a text message arrived in my inbox that *PING* sounded as loud as a hundred firecrackers.
From: S**** J******
I'll come down at three.
Do you want to...?
I did, and that was the night that I turned into my worst nightmare.
He broke up with her, a week after her birthday, two days after their one-month anniversary. A week and a half later, after another sleepover, he asked me to go out with him. I accepted.
We have been dating for edging on four months, and I am a bad girlfriend. I love S. with everything I am, but I find myself wishing, wondering and sometimes hoping for change. He is my best friend, but he is the mst dramatic man alive. He cries over everything, is possessive, and blames himself for everything. But he loves me... I have often caught myself thinking about breaking that poor boys heart. And then I remember the four months of pain I went through to get the title of "girlfriend". I made him cheat. I broke up a cute couple. I denied another human being the happiness she deserved. For what? Personal gain? I love him, but I find myself becoming frustrated when he doesn't understand his English homework when I explain it a dozen times, and I become angry when he calls me drumming on a binder annoying. I get genuinly angry! How horrible a person I must be.
I have just a couple quick questions to add to this Weblog Entry:
-Has anyone else ever been in a similar situation?
-Have you ever found yourself wanting something (and I mean anything), but then once you get it it no longer means as much to you?
