This is another classic from the archives. I'll just let it go from here:
The great thing about moving (and believe me, there aren’t many) is that you occasionally find things that for some dumbass reason or another, you should have tossed away years ago, but manage to keep around just for the sake of reminding you how truly stupid you used to be.
Case in point, while unpacking some of our remaining boxes left over from the big move, I came across a box of old pictures and letters from some of the young ladies I happened to frequent back in the day. The pictures – which I’ll share eventually – I keep around just to take a look back at how freakishly malnourished I looked when I was in my late teens, so I can understand why I wasn’t getting laid as much as my friends were. Well, that and the fact that I had the social skills of a tree stump.
The letters, on the other hand, I used to keep around for other, more nefarious reasons. While decorum and humility prohibits me from going into too much detail, let’s just say that I was single for most of my early 20’s and some of the letters were really, really good.
Regardless, having now been happily married for almost the last three years, I’ve made the command decision that I’ll be getting rid of these letters. Despite how it may look, the Mrs. had no part in my making this decision – and in fact will probably be finding out about it for the first time when she reads this post. I just figured that it could be potentially awkward to have my daughter come across these letters some day and wonder who this person is that isn’t her mommy, writing about riding me like a racehorse.
However, that doesn’t mean that we can’t have some fun with them before they meet their fiery demise, right?
So, in the interest of making myself look far cooler than I actually was at the time, I picked this letter out of the bunch to share with you all. While it isn’t as “intimate” as some of the others, I found it a fine choice in that it shows a girl, obviously looking for penance after shamelessly and callously disrespecting your hero. And, if there is anything better that a woman begging for your forgiveness – I don’t want to know what that is.
I’ll throw in some added commentary to boot – for no other reason than I think it will be really funny. Besides, she wrote the thing in one huge paragraph, so it will help to break it up a bit and make it an easier read. See how I take care of you?
I suppose I should offer a quick back-story, to help you all understand what’s going on here. The year is 1991. I, a surly, dorky 20-year old stallion had just returned back to his apartment on the campus of The Ohio State University, where he was busy studying the fine points of playing Euchre and Asshole, and learning various methods of stealth puking at keg parties.
During our Christmas break, I had started up a minor romantic-type situation with Amy, a girl who was close friends with my first long-term girlfriend, Gina. She also at one point had dated Mike (no relation) who was a good friend on mine at the time. He had broken up with her several months prior to this – but still became angered at me when he found out the situation. This confused me, since like I said – he had broken up with her months before, and from what I was told – had lost interest in her even before that. But that’s a story for another time.
Anyhow, Amy and I had chatted a couple times during that fall and things seemed to be progressing to the point of something major happening during said break. What instead happened was a day’s worth of playing around the issue, about 20 minutes of actual action and another day’s worth of me expecting us to go out on a date, but instead waiting around for a phone call that never came.
(Insert violins and shot of me with a single tear running down my cheek here).
So I went back to Columbus, confused and a little bit (okay, a lot) irritated, but eventually after a week of heavy drinking and patronizing sorority houses – I got over it. Then, one snowy day in February, I received this:
I know you are probably thinking, “Why is this bitch writing me after all this time, what does she want now?”
[Actually, that wasn’t the case at all. At that point in my life, I was happy to hear from anyone – even a heartless shrew that left me confused and bitter.]
Well, the reason I’m writing you is for 1) to see how you’re doing, 2) to tell you I’m sorry and 3) to tell you that I miss you and I miss our friendship. Everything bad that could have happened over Christmas Vacation happened and everything I didn’t want to feel, I felt. You confused me, I confused you, I felt I was being pressured so I shut you out.
[Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I was a tad, um, shall we say “needy” back then, but not even I could have done anything to make someone feel pressured in only two days. It usually took me at least five, if I really liked the girl.]
If there was one thing about us that I loved the most, was we could always communicate to one another. You were my best friend in the whole wide world Bobbie and believe it or not I still consider you to be that. You helped me get over Mike, and I hope I helped you understand Gina a little better. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t handle it. I always felt like you weren’t going to be happy, that something was bothering you. I wanted you to be happy and I felt like all I could give you was sadness.
[Oy, where do I begin? First of all, I don’t know how we could have been best friends, since prior to that we talked sparingly at best. I don’t recall ever helping the other get over our respective better halves, but it was over 10 years ago, so I could be mistaken. As for the bothering me part, sure something was bothering me – I was 20, not getting laid and being led around like an idiot by a schizophrenic lunatic. What would you expect?]
I never, ever meant to hurt you and I swear that on a stack of bibles, but I felt like I was backed into a corner and I didn’t know what to do. That night in my garage, is one that I will never forget, and I mean never. I felt something so strange when you kissed me that I thought I was going to faint.
[That would have been my tongue. Heh.]
Every time we kissed I liked you more, but I had a “boyfriend.”
[Yeah, like that mattered. This chick was a nice girl, but fidelity was never a strong suit. Believe me, her messing around on a boyfriend wasn’t anything unusual. Besides, the night in the garage was the only time we kissed anyhow, so I’m not sure what the hell she was talking about.]
There were times when I wished that he would just be gone and then everything would be ok. But suddenly I realized that to start a relationship with you wouldn’t be right. I believe that if things are meant to be that they will be and when they do come back their meant to last forever.
[Oh really?]
Maybe that’s you and I, maybe not, but either way I would still love to be friends. I’m still going out with Jason and I am happy with him, even though he is basically everything I never wanted in a guy, but I’m happy now & I hope you are too.
I hope everything is going well for you. Please write if you get a chance. I do miss you.
Love, Amy
Touching, eh? Given that I was less than enthralled with her at this point and figured I had nothing to lose anyhow, I replied to her with one of the most scathing letters I had ever written anyone. I was so proud of myself. I never got out of hand or called her names, but instead was concise and to the point, just like the Godfather. In fact, I think I even stole a line from the book about not wanting to thrust my friendship on someone who values it so little, or something like that. It was great.
However, a couple years after the fact our paths crossed again. Sure enough, the old spark got the best of me and we tried again – with the exact same result. I met her over at her dorm room for an evening of wonderful conversation and heavy petting. We arranged to meet up the next day for lunch and perhaps another afternoon of fine conversation and heavy petting.
Instead, I took the 45 minute drive from my parents’ house to her college for our planned meeting, only to find out that she had ‘left with some friends about 15 minutes earlier.” This was a lie, since I heard the girl at the front desk talk to someone in her room – and she didn’t have a roommate – but I decided not to bother and simply left.
I don’t know what ever became of her, but I’d guess that a stay in a sanitarium was probably in order at some point. Doesn’t much matter, since I’m far better off now anyhow, but it’s still fun to ponder.
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