Tuesday, March 22, 2011


Although I really wanted to vent about my ridiculous experience with "cell phone insurance", I don't really want that negative post to be what's up on my blog. So, I think I'll post the 1st page of a story I wrote. This may not be the best photo, but the story was inspired by the 2nd guy from the left. 

When I first saw him, I’m sure I thought he was pretty cute, because by the time we were introduced I definitely thought he was hot. I’m sure it sounds trite in this day and age, but we first met at a church dance. I might have made a better impression if my best friend, Mary, hadn’t been sitting on my lap. I knew a lot of his friends, but David had been in Alaska for two years. I vaguely remembered that Dennis the DJ had mentioned this guy that wrecked his little, old Porsche. So, our friend Paul walked up with the new guy that I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of. I knew right away that he was the one. I mean he was The One! Of course, I had no idea how to let him know that.
My dating history wasn’t all that fantastic. I wouldn’t count any of the “dates” I went on in high school as real, only one other boy that would even come close to being called a “boyfriend” and a few innocent kisses with unrealistic young men. This was my foundation. I would discover much later that his story was as far from mine as possible. I think he dated every girl he ever met. Of course, he was gorgeous; at least in my opinion. He was WAY out of my league. But I didn’t care. I wanted him. I tried to steel myself for the inevitable heartbreak.
So, back to that concrete slab outside Arizona State University and my 19 year-old self. It was a Friday night in October and the evenings were finally cool enough to wear something other than shorts and a t-shirt, but I probably was anyway. I would definitely describe myself as casual, leaning toward what we used to call “mod”. I probably wanted to be a punk, but was too much of a rule follower and smart kid to go all the way. I would definitely shred my black tights, but no spiked dog collar for me! I’d like to say, “I’ll always remember what I wore the night we met.” But I don’t. It was probably a GAP t-shirt and cut-off jeans. Pretty sexy, eh? I don’t even remember what he was wearing. I probably never took my eyes off his face, the deep-set eyes (Were they blue or green?), cheek bones, and yes, of course a dimple! Brown hair brushed the tops of his strong eyebrows. I was definitely smitten.
I’m sure we danced. I was one of the few people there that he knew. I was friends with all of his friends, automatically part of the same group. I don’t know the songs, something 80’s, not country. We seemed to have similar taste in music, Depeche Mode, the Cure. I was always trying to get Dennis (remember, the DJ, one of our common friends) to play more alternative music. Surely people would dance to the Dead Milkmen and the Pixies. Dennis seemed to think otherwise. He never would play Panic, by the Smiths, I just didn’t get it. Maybe it was Howard Jones. I do remember we both loved to dance to Howard Jones.
What I remember most is the dreamy feeling leaving the dance. I recall my nervousness mentioning my sudden crush to Mary on our way home that night. She was much cuter than me, a boy magnet. I won’t even go into other crushes I had who ended up dating Mary, with her fiery red hair, and calling me to discuss the relationship with a “friend”. Pain in the butt! So, I wanted to know if my best friend thought he was as cute as I did, but I definitely didn’t want to draw her attention to my imagined future spouse. She conceded that he was “alright”, but hadn’t really paid much attention to him. Her focus must have been elsewhere that night. I was satisfied.


ducklips said...

This was fun to read. I want to read the rest of the story, even though I already know it. said...

Oh, just wait. It's coming. Bwaa ha ha ha. said...

Funny story. This picture is actually at his bachelor party.