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I regret that I have a horrible memory for experiences, dates and times. When I do remember a story, a word, sound or event suddenly stirs it to the surface.
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My best friend in high school, A., went away to college, to a Very Expensive Private School in a big city out of state. During our freshman year, I went up to visit her for spring break. It was my first time away from home without family, and I was excited for the opportunity to see her and happy that my parents trusted me to drive 10 hours by myself.
We were both excited to see each other. Although we were inseparable in high school and had earnestly kept in touch right after graduation, our many long-distance phone calls -- remember, this is still the Era Before E-mail -- had become less frequent as time went on, and we hardly had spoken to each other in a couple of months. I hoped we weren't growing apart.
(Aside alert: Someone's going to stumble upon an old, cached version of this blog many years from now and wonder how society could possibly have gotten along without the Internet: "OMG, this person remembers when there was no e-mail?!?!?! Gah! How did people live back then?" Although e-mail technically did exist at this time, it wasn't yet mainstream; most regular folks would not have heard of it.)
Anyway, I quickly found out why her calls were getting fewer and far between. She had a boyfriend. He was her first serious one -- the one you meet sometime during your first couple of years of college. The one you youthfully, blindly fall head over heels for. The one that ends up spending every night in your dorm room. The one you think is The One because you're young and have never done any of the things you do with him with anyone else.
A. introduced me to J. soon after I got there. I quickly picked up that they were inseparable -- and, that for the purposes of this trip, "we" would mean the "three of us" instead of just A. and me. I was fine with that. I'm not necessarily a people person and am uncomfortable with hellos and goodbyes. But once I get to know someone, I'm my old self, whatever that means. J. was her life right now, and I was happy for her. I was happy at least one of us had found a life.
"Do you mind if J. hangs out with us?" Of course not. (And really, was I going to tell her yes?)
So for the next few days, the three of us -- and several other dormmates who dropped in and out of our group as their schedules allowed -- had a blast being college freshmen away from home. We drank. We went down to the river and shopped. We cranked up bad early '90s classic rock and partied in the dorm. We drove all around town, took pictures and went sightseeing (hey, I had brought a functioning car!). I was having the time of my life.
With the three of us being together night and day, I considered him my good friend now and felt comfortable enough to hang with him without needing A.'s presence.
One day, J., knowing that I played softball (poorly, on a horrible team, in the worst two positions and for only one year) in high school, asked if I wanted to throw around a baseball in the grassy common in front of the dorm. Yeah!!! Cool. The weather was beautiful, and I was itching to do something outdoors. We went down, tossed a ball around while he told me about his love for the Red Sox (he was from Baahhhhhston) and had a great time.
A. was not happy.
She was in a pouty, gloomy mood after that. She wanted to talk to me.
"J. and I have been talking. Things aren't good with us. We're not getting along."
"What in the world? Why? I thought we were having a blast?"
"J. told me he's starting to like you." (sob)
"Oh boy."
What? Where did that come from? And why does having a good time have to be so complicated?
First of all, he was in love with A., right? They couldn't keep their hands off each other. And to me, he was my buddy J., my best friend's boyfriend.
Second, the thought of someone being attracted to me was completely foreign to me. Guys noticed A., who was cute, flirty, talkative, giggly and witty; guys did not notice me, who was plain, tomboyish, shy, quiet and antisocial. Boys typically looked upon me as just one of the guys. And honestly, I was fine with that, most of the time, since I was awkward and painfully shy in relationships anyway. I played the best friend role well, the one who always had boy friends without ever having boyfriends. For that reason, I had given up on the idea of any boy liking me a long time ago and had put those thoughts out of mind.
The clues were obvious. I flashed back: J. had jumped at the chance to escort me to and show me the new gym facility the school just built; he had been eager to show me his record collection (we both had an interest in music), and we bonded over the bands and records we both liked; he had thought it cool that I "got" sports (not really, but just enough to fake my way through a couple of conversations and pretend I knew something).
But partly because of denial and partly because I was indescribably naive when it came to boys, I never read between the lines on any of that. There could have been a huge billboard erected outside his dorm-room window with his name, a heart and my name and I wouldn't have put two and two together.
"He says he likes you because you have a lot in common," A. said. "J. and I don't have in common the things you two do (sob).
"Why did you have to hang out with him so much?"
Naturally, to her, it's my fault. I stole her boyfriend. Maybe I was partly to blame. Maybe I flirted with him. I honestly didn't know how to flirt, so if I did, I wasn't aware I was doing it. Should I not have played ball with him? Or listened to music with him? A. and I never argued over him; heck, I don't think we had ever argued about anything. But it was clear that in her eyes, I ruined their relationship.
The things was, I did like him, but I couldn't admit that to anyone. I was attracted to Red Sox baseball cap-wearing J., who was cute, shy, Jewish, and tall and lanky. But I am good at keeping secrets and hiding my feelings.
So for the rest of my vacation, A. understandably never left me alone with J. The three of us pretended to ignore the tension hanging over our heads. I can't say whether they enjoyed the rest of our time together, but if they didn't, they did a good job of pretending like they did. Maybe they argued while I wasn't around; I don't know. I certainly enjoyed the rest of my vacation -- always wishing I could steal a few moments alone with J. but feeling sad that that couldn't happen. I could sense he felt the same way, too. It was hard to ignore our feelings, but we behaved.
A. and J. never really patched things up. After several breakups and hookups, it was over. Although A. was bitter for years that I caused their breakup, she and I are still friends.
J. and I promised to keep in touch. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses, and for a year, we corresponded off and on. I think we both kept in touch hoping we would somehow cross paths again, this time without A. Silly -- but we had grown very close very quickly, so maybe we were meant to be together? I did briefly visit him one more time a year later, but by then we both had moved on to other people.
I probably lived a year's worth of college life in that spring break. Thanks, A. and J., for giving me one of the most memorable trips of my life. I'm sorry things ended the way they did. Thanks, J., for making me realize for the first time that I could be more than just one of the guys.