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 Posted: Thu May 07, 2009 1:14 am
Comments: This is a story I've only recently "updated". Actually, the original story was never meant to have a sequel. It was meant to be a sort of prose piece. A single short story (very short; it only took up about 3 pages).
The story is first person which is ironic because I hate first person. I prefer third, but when I wrote it, I just went with it. It's actually a true story based on my life. The character "him" will remain anonymous because this story, now that it's being written, is for the man this story is about. When I finish it, I hope to get it published (not necessary, though) and give it to him as a birthday gift next year. The scenes shown here are almost entirely fictional and most of the characters are as well, though some are based on real people. The original title was "Tickle Wars and Macaroni," but for its publication here, I changed the title to something more appropriate. A friend persuaded me to keep the original title as the title for the chapter, so I did. Anyway, just thought I'd show it here. If you're going to give comments, please let it be constructive or constructive criticism. Thank you and enjoy!---------------------------------------------------------------- "First Love Syndrome"
Tickle Wars and Macaroni No one was online except two people. My “counselor” friends; they weren’t actual counselors, but they’d kept me sane enough all these years. “Go out,” they tell me, “and have some fun. Stop moping in front of your computer.”
I force myself to. It’s Saturday night. Everyone will be in town. Who knows? It could be my lucky night; I might finally snatch a boyfriend that will last for months on end. I dig around in my room for my favorite jeans and snatch a decent shirt out of my closet. Once I’m dressed, I go to the bathroom: hair, teeth, make-up. I don’t need to go overboard. I don’t want them to see a mask. I want them to see me and dream about who I am, not a person I’m pretending to be. I try not to pretend even though I want to. Being me is so much better than being someone else. Or it used to be before three weeks ago.
I come back into reality and discover I’m staring at my reflection in the mirror. Thinking like that only gets me down and that’s the last thing I need if I’m going to go out tonight. If I’m going to succeed, I must think positively. That’s what my big brother always tells me: think positive and keep an open mind. He’s not my real brother, of course, but we’ve been friends for a couple of years and that’s just how our relationship developed. It’s too complicated for either of us to understand how it happened, but if we hadn’t learned to love each other as siblings, we wouldn’t be speaking. That’s what he tells me. It’s true.
The accessories are added as I think about this. My new earrings are gorgeous with this outfit. There’s no way I can’t attract someone’s eye tonight. Then again, it’s not hard to catch a guy’s eye; the challenge is talking to them. I’m shy until you start talking to me, then I don’t shut up. I start to think about my flaws and begin examining myself in the mirror.
‘Stop that,’ my mind tells me, ‘you’ll only fail. You must succeed!’
I tell my mom I’ll be back in a couple of hours, grab my backpack purse, and flee the depressing atmosphere. No more bad thoughts. I slip in to my used 95 Mustang and speed away. The engine revving as I force it to jump from 0 to 65 flushes out any negative emotions that were once there. It’s always done that. I switch on the radio to the Classic Rock station and crank up the volume to 40. I’m feeling good as I cruise in to town about five minutes later. The speed limit is 30; my excitement has taken over, but I don’t let it get to my foot. I’m broke and jobless. I can’t afford a ticket.
Wal*Mart is the only place us teenagers have to go in this town and we can’t stay there too long, either. I remember about four months ago, the cops came in and handed out tickets to everyone who was sitting around doing absolutely nothing but mingling. Too bad the cops weren’t handing out tickets to those boys that race around the courthouse. From what everyone knows of our town’s cops, they probably had a bet of who would win going on under the table.
My stomach ties itself in knots as I pull in to Wal*Mart. He works here. Unfortunately, the only place everyone flocks to is the department he’s at. I can feel my heart racing a lot faster than the Dodge that runs around the parking lot to show off for the ladies. Stupid things never impressed me. If you can play “Free Bird” on Hard on Guitar Hero II like he can, I’ll be impressed. Otherwise, you shouldn’t waste your time. I’d rather you talk to me than show off.
I find a nice little parking place and angle my way in slowly. I stop about a foot shorter of the other car. I don’t want to hit it. I only hit someone once when I was parking and I don’t want to do that again. I get out, grab my bag, lock the doors, and realize I’m parked slightly wrong. I never was very good at parking with other cars around. I head inside, gaining a few looks from people as I pass the crosswalk. A confident smile comes over me; I have to be confident tonight.
Electronics is the section I head to, but I can’t take an obvious route. He might see me. I go around to the back of the department where all the TVs are and sneak down the games isle. I’ve memorized what they have and don’t have. They never have anything good and anything they do have is for a gaming system I don’t own. Pokemon Diamond looks good, but I already have Pearl. Nothing decent for the PS2 has been released recently, either.
I hear his voice around the corner. He’s talking on the phone at the registers. I take a careful peek around the corner. There he is standing 5’7” with that heart-melting grin crossing from cheek to cheek on his cute face. I smile involuntarily. He has that light in his eyes again.
The memory of me wandering around the Electronics section about a month ago tears into my thoughts. I was walking around looking at random CD’s with my heart fluttering around with the butterflies in my stomach. I couldn’t get rid of that damn grin. I felt drunk all the time. I looked at the cash register. He was talking to someone, but he glanced my way and grinned with those glowing eyes. He knew what I looked like without my clothes; he was the first one to ever get them off. I doubt anyone could beat his record: the second day, he got everything off but my pants.
Another grin spreads over my face at the memory. He hangs up the phone and I go back to hiding in the Game isle. Unless he comes down it, there’s no way he can know I’m here. He starts whistling down the isle behind me and “zones” the movies. It’s his duty around this time of night. I check my Katana II phone. 10:23. I set it back in my purse and browse the games again. A second memory pops in to my mind which forces another grin on my lips.
I can’t remember the exact day, but it was one month and two weeks into our relationship. In fact, I can’t even remember how it started. Oh, that’s right! He and I were sitting on the couch. I tickled his stomach, just a little, because I loved watching him squirm. Our friend was sitting on the other side of him and as he started to tickle me relentlessly, I tried to tell our friend to get away because I didn’t want to hurt him. He moved into the floor and kept gaming. It didn’t help. I was forced into the floor trying to get away, but he came after me and kept tickling. Somehow, I managed to crawl to the other side of the room with him still tickling me. Finally, I grabbed his foot and tickled the hell out of him. He went into laughter. I kept tickling. He got me, though, and prevented me from moving at all while he tickled me.
“Do you yield?” he asked me.
“Do you?” I answered.
He laughed and kept on, then asked me again. I replied with the same answer even though I was still giggling.
“She’s defiant, isn’t she?” he looked up at our friend.
“Yeah, she’ll fit right in,” our friend answered, never taking his eyes of the TV.
The tickling continued. Finally, I screamed, “I yield!” He stopped. I added, “For now…” I would get him next time.
I end up laughing when I remember that. By the time I realize I’m supposed to be hiding, he’s already down the isle to do his work. He looks at me rather surprised and comes to talk to me.
“Hey,” he nudges me gently. I sway, but don’t fall.
“Hi.”
“What’s so funny?”
I keep smiling. He’s so cute when he smiles. I want to turn invisible, run, and never look back. It’s too painful to keep standing here. I’ve tried avoiding him, but part of me keeps yanking me in his path.
“Just a joke I remembered,” I shrug.
“Cool.”
There’s an awkward silence after that. It never used to be awkward, not before three weeks ago. Then again, it had never been the same for us after we broke up with our exes. Why would I be any different to him or vice versa? On the other hand, we rarely talk to our exes because I would run away from my exes and his exes would run away from him. …Why didn’t I run away from him?
“What’re you doing here?” he asked. The line shoots a third memory into my brain.
Back when I used to have a job, I’d fill a large side cup with macaroni and cheese to bring to him. He would always go, “Eeee!” with delight when I did that. Sometimes, I’d even bring home boxes of chicken with biscuits and side dishes and we’d have a meal. Those were the days: happy, carefree…everything went right between us. I learned to cope with his flaws and he learned to cope with mine. I hadn’t expected us to last forever; I almost knew we wouldn’t. What I didn’t expect, though, was him suddenly dumping me. He got scared of commitment and being trapped. We tried working it out a couple of weeks ago, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t have that light. It was like I wasn’t good enough for him anymore.
My brother said I made an adult decision when I broke up with this guy. I told him it was a stupid adult decision. I regret it. I want to be with him. I want to cook for him, I want to help him clean the house for his housemates (who would’ve been my housemates too if the place I worked at hadn’t shut down and I’d lost my job), and I want to fall asleep and wake up beside him every morning. I’m in love with him, or at least, I’m in the secondary stages.
“I just wanted to say ‘Happy Birthday’,” I tell him.
“Oh. Thanks!”
He doesn’t suspect a thing. He’s oblivious like that. The guy will never see that look in my eye, but he knows what I want. I told him when we tried to get back together. I still want to tell him. I just want to move closer, kiss him, and say, “Let’s go back to the days when we had tickle wars and I brought you macaroni”. We can’t.
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Posted: Thu May 07, 2009 1:18 am
"First Love Syndrome"
A Second Encounter How it happened I’ll never know. The events with the man I had been in love with were all too distant. It seems like it was a different life, a different time, and I had been a different person. So had he. Things had certainly changed since that night he and I kissed for the very first time. I can't picture it as vividly as I used to. No longer was I so young and naïve. I had blossomed. Life had given me an opportunity that I had seized. I got a job, I got a crush on someone, I spent money, I got along with my mother. Those days were short-lived when a new man came into my life.
He wasn't smooth or extremely handsome, but he was someone else. Someone better, someone more devoted. Three dates and then we moved in. I changed jobs constantly and spent every day with him. Eight wonderful months went by before tragedy struck. My mother died and I was forced to move back to my old home. He was gone by then; he had moved away and was seeing someone as well. It wasn't serious, but at that point, I didn't care. The new fellow moved in with me and we had ideas of marriage. I struggled with happiness and misery for two months. This time, the decision was my own. He wasn't the right person. I didn't want to marry him. It was all or nothing; I chose nothing with no regrets.
He left. I was alone and the first thing my mind thought of was him. Why him of all people? Because he had used me, I told myself. He wouldn't get attached, he wouldn't try to make me stay, wouldn't try to make me love him. The way things used to be between us was no more. Had I really accepted that? I made sure to answer that question with complete confidence before I called.
He drove for 2 hours to come pick me up and drove 2 hours all the way back. It was awkward at first. I felt as if I was intruding, but if I had brought it up, he would have said"don't be ridiculous" in that tone of his. So, I didn't. We had to sleep in the same bed. I wasn't nervous about that, I was actually excited. I knew if he tried something, I’d be right there to resist him. It wasn’t difficult to turn him down. Not the first night.
But there was something he said that gave me hope, hope that this would turn around into my favor, that maybe, just maybe, he would have changed his mind by now and we’d live happily ever after.
“I forgot how well you fit,” he whispered in my ear.
Everything I had blocked out, everything I had suppressed for the past eleven months since I had seen him, burst back into my core. I could feel myself growing weaker to his charms. That warm, fuzzy feeling returned. Was I floating? Were those tears trying to bubble out? Resistance was not hard…but pretending that I had never felt anything for him and never would again was impossible. I survived the first night; and the second; and the third.
The fourth came. We had talked so much about everything, about us, and he had that light in his eyes again. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was lonely, horny, or if he wanted to be with me. That had been the problem since the split. As he cooked in his kitchen fully aware of what he was doing, I watched him and dreamed.
A few years down the road, I sit my dark-haired daughter upon the counter to put a band-aid on her knee. She fell down in the yard playing with the puppy. Upon reaching for her knee to stick the band-aid on, the golden wedding band comes into my view. I barely noticed it anymore because I was so used to wearing it. From behind, the thudding of footsteps can be heard tramping into the kitchen. The front door slams open and two boys come rushing in.
“Daddy, Devon pulled my hair!”
“James started it!”
“I did not!”
“You did so!”
“Boys,” I warn them with a tone, “what did I say about arguing like that?”
They opened their mouths to recite the rule, but their father cuts them off.
“Only do it when mommy’s not around,” he says.
The man I had been watching cook in the kitchen all those years ago, the man I had fallen madly in love with the day he walked into the room in only his boxers, was my husband. He gives me that heart-warming grin that spreads from chubby cheek to chubby cheek. I can’t be mad. I want to say something that gets him in trouble for being like that, but something keeps me from being completely serious about it. He’s mine…all mine. And these children are ours. Four kids, one currently at a soccer game. Four gorgeous children that smile up at me with those adorable grins they inherited from their father.
We make love that night. I can’t resist him after that dream. It’s always in my mind. It’s been in my mind since we started dating. I want to change his mind.
“It’ll take one amazing woman to get me,” he’s always said.
I want to be that amazing woman. “First Love Syndrome” he calls it. That’s a pretty serious case. We talk about it some more and stay up until dawn and fall asleep snuggled together. I decided something that night. I came to a decision that I wish he would give me a reason to go back on. He can’t. My decision is to never go backwards with him. That very night, I accepted that we would never be together. He takes me home the next day.
We’re driving in the van with Meatloaf playing as loud as we can stand it, maybe one or two volumes louder. My mind reels to the future and I see a man with brown hair, a little stubble, and gorgeous when he smiles at me. There’s a light in his eyes that the man next to me used to have, a light only for me. This future man and I are flirting. He asks me out. I say yes. He is the end of my search. I’m sure he’s out there…somewhere. My dream fades as an eighteen wheeler passes us. I am staring at my reflection in the window of the van.
A love song comes on. He starts to change it, but I stop him. It’s a beautiful song. “Blind as a Bat” is the title. Its lyrics are mesmerizing, as is the music. But this song is not the song for us. For that to occur, he would have to return my feelings. He’ll never do that. Nothing is the way it was. I try to convince myself of that when he drops me off and says his good-byes. I try to explain to myself why I need to let go. …So why do I not believe it? Somewhere inside of me, can I help but feel that we’ll end up together one day? That is a question I would love to ask Fate. Sadly, she cannot answer. For now, I will stay in his life as his friend. Once upon a time was an eternity ago and happily ever after is an eternity still.
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Posted: Thu May 07, 2009 1:27 am
"First Love Syndrome"
Convinced We are friends. No strings attached; nothing to be expected of each other. I call him when I’m afraid or sad; he calls me when he’s lonely or bored. It’s all the same. He comes over to have lunch with me and I go over to watch a movie with him. “You need me just like I need you,” he says. We’re just friends. …Why does my attention snap to my phone when it goes off to the familiar rhythm of our song, “Bohemian Rhapsody”? It’s him texting me or calling me. Why does my stomach lunge when I see him? We’re only friends.
Weeks go by. I haven’t heard a word. He texts me and I instantly turn my attention from my puppy to my phone. He wants to know a secret of mine; he tries to understand my reasoning behind it. I won’t tell him. He gets upset and says he wants me to help him.
“You can’t be helped. You wouldn’t let me help you then because you threw away all logic and reasoning for some cheap, meaningless thrills!”
What I say is true. I revel in being right. He’s upset.
“I know what I’ve done,” he says, “I know what mistakes I’ve made and I have to live with them every day of my life! I don’t need you or anyone else reminding me of them! Just leave me alone!”
For the first time since the split, I don’t want to rub it in his face. He made a lot of mistakes, the first one starting when he left me. He plunged off the deep end. I always thought he was afraid and I really did try to help him, but he pushed me away and dove deeper. I don’t want to be right. I don’t want to hurt him anymore. I throw his line back at him.
“I can’t leave you alone. ‘You need me as much as I need you!’ It’s the truth. I refuse to let you do something reckless again!”
“I’m already alone! You don’t trust me!”
“I trust you more than anyone else in the world,” I confess, “You just don’t understand anything. Go ahead. Dwell in your loneliness!”
“You won’t let me get close to you. I try to understand you, but you never let me.”
“I CAN’T let you get close to me and you know why!”
I find myself confessing what I’ve been thinking for so long… I confess even though I am strong. I am weakened by hope; hope that he will one day tell me he feels the same way about me; hope that he will have feelings for me. If that hope is squashed, I still have my own strength.
“You don’t have to let me get too close. What-might-have-beens and what happened are just an excuse for us to not get close. We can’t let that happen.”
I ask him the question that I’ve known the answer to since he left me that night, yet I ask because I want a new answer, an answer I don’t expect.
“What do you want from me?”
“I…I don’t know. I know what I want, but I don’t know if it’s what I need…”
“When you figure it out, call me,” I tell him.
Surprisingly, he texts me back.
“What do you want from me?”
“Something you can never give me. Don’t ask a question you don’t want an answer to.”
“I didn’t.”
This is shocking. My stomach flips. I take my time to figure out what I really want from him. Several answers go through my mind. Love, marriage, a family…I want the rest of my life to be spent with him. If I could have immortality with one person in this world, it would be him; only him; just the two of us living together forever. I wish to stare into his hazel eyes and run my fingers through his sleek, brown hair. His lips on mine warped into a passionate kiss, his strong scarred and tattooed arms around my small body. Just him…
I can’t tell him any of this. It’s too overwhelming for him. I need to keep my request simple and the secret desires of my heart locked away there. I think over my options carefully and give him a simple, yet impossible request.
“Feelings you never had and never will have for me. If it came to us being together, my price is one you’ll never pay and one that I know I can’t ask of you. Go on with your life and I’ll go on with mine.”
We’ll just be friends, I think. Just him and me together as friends; we’ll be together forever, but there will be nothing more than friendship between us. The split was an eternity ago. I’ve spent that time convincing myself that we will never be; he will never feel for me the way I feel about him. He is a wild thing, an untamable creature. I am an unattainable goddess who can be anything a man needs her to be, but can never truly have what I want or need. Thus, our paths can never tie.
He does not tell me otherwise. His silence squashes the hopes I had built up. I wish he’d prove me wrong. He doesn’t. I don’t hear from him again.
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