A Love Story, Part III

(Wherein our Heroine Takes a Turn for the Worse)

So, back to Messiah I went, to work, as my sister so generously informed you in my last post, on the grounds crew. I worked on the athletic fields all summer. The baseball field received special attention because it was home to a summer league in the evenings. So I learned how to drag the base paths, how to properly mow the infield (with a SHARP push mower! Never a riding one!), and how to line the field. It was when I was driving the stakes for the lines one day that I smashed my finger with a sledgehammer. No broken bones, amazingly. But a disgusting flesh wound.

Anyway, I digress.

In June I returned home to Massachusetts for my best friend’s wedding. I came home for the week, to be sure to attend all the pre-wedding events, etc., etc. During that week I had a few free evenings, and one night David and I went to Boston. We took the red line in, and played our favorite game, “Searching for Harrod and Funck.” Once we arrived in the city, we had dinner in a sports bar on Boylston St. and then bought rush tickets for “Bring In Da Noise, Bring In Da Funk.” (I’m a tap dancer, remember? And YES SAVION GLOVER WAS THERE AND YES HE WAS AMAZING.)

Now, you have to understand the status of our relationship at this point. In my mind, David is a “safe guy.” One of those that you don’t have to worry about falling for you because he’s somehow not in your dating pool. In this case, I thought he was too old for me; I mean that in the kindest way possible. Maybe I should say I thought I was too young for him. I had just completed my sophomore year of college; he was on the verge of completing his master’s degree. He had held down a real job…established a credit record…had a 401(k) plan…things like this. My biggest concern at this point was…what color lipstick was I going to wear to go with my bridesmaid’s dress? (there I am at the reception with my Mom.)

So, anyway, we had a nice night. Very much not a date in my mind. Somebody mistook us for a couple and we laughed…ha, ha, ha, aren’t they silly?!

Well, when we arrived home (we lived at the same address, remember?), David confessed that he wanted to be in my dating pool. Like, right next to me in the dating pool. This came as a complete and utter shock to me.

What I remember:

  • Blood rushing to my face and that roaring noise in your ears when it feels like you can’t hear anything, yet what you’re hearing is SO, SO LOUD
  • Thinking, What?! You’re seven years older than me. You’re my brother (brother reference #2).
  • Mumbling something lame about how I’d always thought he’d be good with a friend of mine.
  • Mumbling something equally lame about how “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now.” (heard that one before?!)
  • The nagging thought in the back of my mind that my friend (the bride of the week) was working on setting me up with one of the groomsmen.
  • About twenty minutes of torture for both of us, and then me excusing myself to go downstairs and David mumbling something about slamming his head in the door.

And that was that. The week went on, and I think it’s a credit to us both how quickly our friendship recovered. David was the Master of Ceremonies at the reception (right, with my friend Becky, the bride’s sister) and he was witty and entertaining. I was set up with aforementioned groomsman, and a few months later we were “dating,” as much as you can date someone who’s several states away. “Not ready for a relationship,” remember?

Well, that relationship only lasted a few months. I broke up with the guy on Thanksgiving weekend, having realized that really the only reason why I started dating him was the excitement and pressure surrounding the wedding we were both in (stupid, right?!). That was the first time I initiated a breakup. Up until this time, I had always been the dump-ee. So, feeling low and wanting a distraction, I called up some friends and asked them to go to a movie with me that night. Surprise, surprise, the only one free was David. We went to see “Anastasia,” and met some friends for food afterwards.

And thus we returned to how things had been before…hanging out together, watching movies, going to Bible study, and neither of us were dating anyone. But we weren’t dating each other, either.

To be continued…

17 thoughts on “A Love Story, Part III

  1. (How many chapters is this going to have?)Great photo! I’m glad you put up the one of Mom!(Sorry, am I totally monopolizing the comments section on this??)I was trying to remember where I was during all of this and then I remembered, “Oh, that’s right. I was two months married and doing my miserable job in New Hampshire!”

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  2. I think maybe two more chapters. I don’t want to torture everyone too long.I think we should have a “you supply the caption” game for the picture of David and Becky.Is Becky saying, “My, my, what is he saying?! Doesn’t he know my grandparents are here??!!”

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  3. Ok, I just have to say first that my computer has decided to go spanish on me and all the comments say “michelle dijo” (michelle said) and “haga su comentario” (leave your commentary)…weird. Anyway, I’m loving the love story! Thanks for putting effort into giving us the full scoop- girls love a good romance!! Can’t wait for the next chapter!

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  4. Perhaps Becky was thinking one of these options:”Ewwwwww…my sister married Jason Winchell!””Wow, this guy is actually really funny. It’s too bad the audio system is so poor and only those sitting in the front understand what’s going on!””Hmmmmm….Kelly Sue and David….hmmmmmmm….””Now wait…which song are we supposed to be playing next???””I look FAB-U-LOUS today! I know I’m really the star of the day here, it’s the truth. All eyes on me. Ah-hem. I mean on my sister.”

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  5. I do remember you laughing while you were back there fumbling with the CDs!And you can’t deny it, your hair did look fab that day. Unlike mine, which I was mad about from the get-go. But nobody could compete with Missy’s complex basketweave thing. That was amazing.

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  6. About twenty minutes of torture for both of us, and then me excusing myself to go downstairs and David mumbling something about slamming his head in the door.ROFL.David and I really are a lot alike in this way (and others too!). Had I any wits left at that point (unlikely), I would have said something like “Okay, no problem. I’m going to go repeatedly bang my head against the wall until I pass out in hopes I don’t remember this tomorrow. Good night!”Alternatively, you would have all woke the next day with me gone, a few months rent in an envelope, and a sign on the door reading: “Moved to Tibet. – Tom”

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  7. Tom, you can feel free to interject how this is different from the story you’ve heard in our living room. It’s much more exciting with us interrupting and talking over each other, isn’t it?

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