Imagine if you will, being 23 fresh from a roller coaster of a first real relationship, and finally turtle heading your way out of the heart broken shell tossed around you. After the disbelief that you would not in fact be marrying the man who had somehow won your heart and tied c-4 to it before thrusting it back into your chest for the most carnage.
This story starts there. It was the first time I’d meet a man from the internet, It was the first time I’d dealt with the crazy that was to come.
The man with the plan had dumped me just before school was out for the summer. We’d had our nightly goodnight kiss, he’d seen me to my car door, kissed me once more, and made me promise to call him when I got home. Just like every night before.
The radio was almost prophetic. Every station played a sad song, I franticly scanned through the stations hoping for something uplifting But the music would not cooperate. The most uplifting song I’d here that 15 mile drive home was “Someone else’s star” by Brian White. It was a country tune from the 90’s and I’d always loved it, but after hearing “scrubs” by TLC, and a million other songs that just weren’t setting a mood. I’d sat in my car in my driveway and cried.
Alone again tonight, without someone to love, the stars are shining bright, so one more wish goes up.
OH, I wish I may and I wish with all my might, for the love I’m dreaming of and missing in my life.
You’d think that I could find a true love of my own, it happens all the time to people that I know.
Their wishes all come true so I’ve got to believe, there’s still someone out there who is meant for only me.
I guess I must be wishing on someone else’s star, It seems like someone else keeps getting what I’m wishing for
Why can’t I be as lucky as those other people are. Oh I guess I must be wishing on someone else’s star.
I cried for a full fifteen minutes, not knowing yet what would be in store. Part of me hoped that I was being stupid. That those 15lbs I’d gained in the year we’d been together wasn’t enough to end a relationship. But somehow deep inside, I knew that, yes. It was over.
I walked through the door to my father’s house, and dialed his number to no avail, it would not answer. So I logged onto the internet to message him, and this is what I saw.
Him: I’m glad you made it home, but please quit calling me. Don’t come back by. I think we need a break.
Now to me this was an absolute breakup. He’s the one who wanted the wedding, wanted to plan it. He’s the one who.. eh none of this matters anymore. I feel no sadness in writing this. I feel lucky now.
At the time I felt completely broken, and it took me nearly two months to come back to life, and I owe that to my cousin and a tuna fish sandwich, but I digress.
The FWB Fiasco started a few months later, I’d started to peruse the Yahoo Chat Rooms. I’ve explained that before, and I actually managed to run into an old junior high/senior high friend. We’d started hanging out and had a wonderful time together. Running here, going hiking there. I’d made friends with all of his. Honestly, to this day that may have been the best relationship I’d ever had.
And there were no strings. I wasn’t ready. He didn’t want them, or he may not have wanted me in that way. Either way, it was a wonderful time to spend the majority of the summer.
Then one night, while off from work I had nothing to do, so I logged back into the land of Yahoo, and found one. A total Wackjob.
He seemed nice enough, lived in a prominent part of an upscale neighborhood a couple of hours away. He was training to be a pilot, and had what appeared to be a good head on his shoulders. And as he wasn’t too unfortunate looking I thought, wow maybe… Just maybe I could move on with this one.
We talked from June to July online, and started in on the phone. It wasn’t as easy then, there was no cell phones with unlimited minutes, or data plans that were worth a darn. So calling him up when I reached our predetermined locale was problematic.
We’d chosen Wal-Mart in a town that sat just in the middle of the distance. We stood outside for almost an hour talking and even a light bit of hand holding. When I was fairly certain he wasn’t going to murder me we made plans to head off towards his place.
His car was a Pontiac Grand Am, and it was very nice. I remember thinking how neat the air blowers were, because they performed less like an air vent, and more like some scifi part on a space ship.
The conversation was great throughout our trip, we stopped by his place and I met his parents. And Hold the phone, I met his parents? You have to be kidding me.
Our last minutes before we left our collective houses were spent talking on YIM. He had stated he was looking for no strings and as I too felt the same, I saw no problem with a single solitary date, to see if we had the potential to be friends.
We left his house and he took me some UFO themed bar in the busiest part of the city. I walked out and noticed all the taps on the wall. I’d never been much of a beer drinker, so when the bar tender asked me what I’d like I promptly replied “I don’t know.”
What happened next deserves a laugh track, and it’s on sit-com. The bartender took it as his mission in life for me to try one of everything until I found one I liked. He’d started with the ciders, and they were much too sweet, then he moved along until I settled on something I liked. By that time I’m not sure I knew my name, I sure don’t remember the name or brand of beer.
At some point I stopped drinking, I looked for my quasi-date and he was still right beside me, he’d had one or two pints and I’d had what equated to about a 30 pack. I was a lightweight drunk, so I was spinning faster than a basketball on a globetrotter’s finger.
He drove me away from the bar, so that I could ‘sober up.’ We went to some out of the way ‘club house’. He called it his ‘home away from home.’ There were plenty of windows, with more blinds than I’d ever seen before.
We sat there for thirty minutes or more, just until I could sit up without feeling like my toenails were going to evacuate through my nostrils. He’d ask simple questions, for one or two answers. We’d tried yes and no questions, but somehow my brain wasn’t completely connected to my mouth, and yes and no tended to make the room spin harder as I nodded or shook my head. It’s funny how that happens.
Cut forwards thirty minutes and we were rolling around on the couch. Fifteen minutes it was over, nothing to write home about, not that anyone would tend to write home about lackluster sex anyway. I think we ran through a drive thru, grabbed a couple of dollar burgers, and headed back towards my car an hour away.
By the time I got to my car I was either sober, or sober enough to think I was. I drove home. My last beer had been six hours ago by this time. I was no longer afraid of driving and headed off. I made it home fine, with no swerving, no issues.
I took a hot shower, and for some reason felt a little strange about the whole ordeal. When I went to bed, the room didn’t spin, and with the odd feeling, still I fell asleep rather quickly.
The next morning the details of the night were sketchy. It took three days and I remembered enough to piece together the night.
My old high school buddy called, needing a favor. His car had all but blown up. The radiator was cracked, and it wasn’t going anywhere. I dropped everything and grabbed him. (fourty five minutes one way).
Then if you add In the 30 minutes he lived in the opposite direction, it looked as if I’d be getting home just before morning once again. We did what FWBs do, I slept on his mother’s couch (who had no idea what was going on…) (Ok now that I’m older I’m sure she probably had an idea, but… I wasn’t telling.)
The next day, before I went home I think we spent the majority of the day in bed, after his mother went to work. IT was nice. No expectations of a future, just fun, and friendly conversations, and snuggling. It was a beautiful end to a wonderful couple of days, and following up the travesty and cloudiness of the night before that was essential to my mental well-being.
Then as I got home, and logged onto the computer I had an Im.
FF: Where have you been? I’ve been waiting to talk to you for two days!
Me: I was with my friend, what’s wrong? (I was suddenly worried that he’d gotten a bad test result and I’d be needing heavy duty meds for the rest of my life, as we were not in a relationship, and he had no holds to me.)
FF: Did you fuck him? (Hold the phone bucko. I didn’t even say it was a him!?)
Me: I thought you didn’t want nor need a relationship, what does it matter what I do when I’m not with you? Also, I never said it was or was not a him. What right do you have to ask me ANYTHING?
FF: You know what you’re a slut. You had sex with 2 men in the same week! What the FUCK is wrong with you? I liked you! I was being the sensitive guy who was giving you space! You whore, don’t ever speak to me again?
I deleted him that moment, and blocked him. To say it didn’t cause me a little pain, would be a lie. I felt like the slut he made me out to be for about fifteen minutes. A call to a friend later, and I was angry. I’d like to have said it was a smear campaign.
I unblocked him for about fifteen minutes to explain to him just how small his Vienna weiner really was. Then put him back on perma-ignore.
The other friend and I stuck together throughout the summer, and finally parted ways amicably when he found another more suitable girl. (Read that, will do/buy weed when he felt like it). I was not that girl.
But I’d learned my lesson; there are all sorts of crazy out there. And there would be more, so many more, before it was all done, as my Prince Charming got drunk and ran his horse headlong into a tree.