Dating, Part I : Leslie

I just might regret starting down this road. When you blog about the abyss...

Like most people, I have experienced a varied dating life. From completely normal partners to absolutely insane ones (and no, I don't mean insane as in "wow, that girl had issues". I mean i-n-s-a-n-e. It may have not been clinically diagnosed, but most certainly it was there). From sweet to nasty. From well-adjusted to emotionally crippled. From loving me unconditionally, to attempted vehicular manslaughter. I've dated 'em all.

Over the last 10 years I've noticed that when people are having relationship problems, often they end up using me as a sounding board or ask me for advice. People with dating woes turn to me. I am Mecca for the dysfunctional. No matter what they're going through, I've already seen it. Whatever batshit crazy scenario they're involved in, I've somehow escaped from it already. I obviously exude the wisdom of experience in this specific area. At least that's what I'd like to think. It is just as possible that people look at me and decide "he's screwed up enough to not judge me", but I'm going with the wisdom thing.

There is only one thing that I can guarantee about dating; damaged people find other damaged people. They are drawn to each other like brainless flies to the impending doom of a bug light. People like partners they can relate to, and who better for a damaged person to feel a connection with than another fiery projectile of psychosis?

How do I know this? I was one of them.

How I ended up well-adjusted is beyond me. I'm not going to tell you I don't have my emotional flaws (in fact, this series of dating stories will accentuate each and every one of them), but I honestly think I have the whole relationship thing figured out. It took years of being involved in messed up relationships, growing up in an uber dysfunctional home (expect 40 billion posts about this some time in the future), trial and error, heartbreak, rejection, hard thought, complete dismissal, and the aforementioned attempted vehicular manslaughter but I arrived at a place where, against all odds, I somehow landed on my feet. I can now laugh at my former self. Ok, cringe and laugh. But I'm there. I look back at a person I can't believe I was, but with the clarity only time can provide.

Having said that, it's easy to look at these things logically from a distance. When you have no current emotional involvement, it all makes perfect sense. There are no "what if's" and "maybe's". Most relationships are quite easily deconstructed. Except if they're your current one. Then it is far more complex than anyone else's, and not something others could ever comprehend. Individual people bring out individual traits in you that you didn't even know existed. I'm not a jealous guy normally, but a woman has made me insanely jealous. Just the one, but for that span of time I was a mess.

Well, how does one publicly process their dating life? For me the only way is chronologically. To attempt any other format would be impossible for me. There's just too much life experience in this 43-year old man's head to try and make sense any other way. Ok, "make sense" is definitely the wrong way to put it. It's the only way I can even consider to begin dumping it out of my head.

So let's start with the first girl I ever dated. I understand that a young teen's first girlfriend is highly unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but I also remember that it was important to me then. And life has taught me if it was important then, it played a part in molding my current self. For that reason, it is as good a place as any to start. Plus, there's a really funny anecdote about her drunken dad that I can't resist sharing.

Leslie

I was 14. Leslie was my first "steady". I remember Leslie fondly. Life was so simple then. I was oblivious to everything, and when it comes to dating let's face it...ignorance truly is bliss.

Wait a sec...who am I trying to kid? Ignorance is excruciating and stressful.

I have NEVER known how to approach a possible date. EVER. Not even the woman who became my wife. People who say "all she can say is no" are fools. She can say a LOT worse than no. She has the ability to construct a simple sentence that will change the way you will approach every other woman for the rest of your life. Even at 14, I knew this. Hell, ESPECIALLY at 14. Because at 14 you can guarantee she'll tell two friends how she shot you down, they'll tell two friends, and before you know it you're known by your entire circle of influence as the guy who was emotionally castrated by the awkward chick in gym class. And at 14 it's even worse...because at that age everyone is concerned about what everyone else thinks and does. So if you get rejected by girl A, you can pretty much guarantee that girl B to Z won't want to be the person who settled for the dork that wasn't good enough for someone else. "Yes" was a necessity. I can only imagine how much worse this is for today's youth, given that the ride from date rejection to social leper takes only as long as a text or camera phone vid. At least I could hold my head high for a day or so. Now your entire standing can change during the first 5 minutes of 2nd period English.

The thing is, I knew Leslie was a "yes" and I was still scared. I was scared for a lot of reasons. I knew virtually nothing about girls. My dad wasn't the kind of guy to have "the talk" with me, and considering the quantum shit pile that was my parent's marriage he wasn't going to be source of quality dating advice, so the what/where/how/when/why of the opposite sex was foreign to me. I knew virtually nothing about kissing, for crying out loud!

The first girl I ever kissed was Diane. It was at a junior high dance. I remember this well, and for the worst reason. It wasn't until a few months after the fact that I found out when you french kiss, you're supposed to use your tongue! Seriously, I had no idea. Thinking of it now makes me wince. It still makes me feel like a moron. I can only guess what poor Diane thought after that vertical-equivalent-to-mouth-to-mouth-resuscitation experience, but it is a pretty good description of how my dating life always went - I had no idea what to do or how to act, let alone who to be. I have been accused a few times in my life of flirting. Nothing could have further from the truth. I don't know how to flirt, and if I had tried it would have been the most awkward attempt known to man. If I was even aware that a woman thought I was flirting I would have found a way to exit the premises post haste. I was just talking and trying to be nice. Anything else was most certainly perception as opposed to reality. I would have been too unsure and nervous to even attempt to be coy. I do not know coy. I only know fear.

Anyhow, Leslie.

Leslie's friend from my homeroom class told me she was interested in me. That's the way it happens in junior high, right? I didn't know what to do with this information. Immediately I was nervous around her. I avoided making eye contact in the hallway. She was pretty, but not I'll-be-the-envy-of-everyone pretty. She was definitely attractive though. If only I could overcome my insecurities and talk to her, I'd be interested in hanging out. But all I could think of was my tongueless foray into semi-adulthood and how I was bound to look like a complete boob within minutes of engaging her. Having a girl interested in me quite frankly scared me speechless, literally. I avoided the cafeteria for fear of coming in contact with her. Most guys my age were somewhere in that adolescent state of not knowing whether to kiss a girl or pester them incessantly, but I wasn't even that mature. I had no idea what to even think, let alone do.

As fate would have it, our classes were combined in Art class for a project. Her giggling friends practically shoved us together in a nanosecond. So there I was. Crap. Now I have to say something.

"Hi", I said, and immediately looked down toward my Converse high tops. Yeah, I was smooth.

"Hi", she said in return. I looked up at her, and saw that smile.

It is amazing in retrospect that even though my knowledge of girls was an emotional vacuum of confusion, I immediately knew the difference between a smile and "that" smile. You know the one. The one that empties every other thought from your head. The one that makes your heart beat faster. The one that raises your body temperature by 20 degrees. The one that makes you think only one thing;

"OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD"

I immediately loved her. Of course I knew nothing of real love. But I knew I "14-year old loved" her.  This was easily the most profound experience of my life up to that point. It was the first time I connected with a member of the female persuasion, and even in my dating oblivion I knew that.

This may be the ramblings of a grown man about his schoolgirl sweetheart, but in the end it's still what drives us. We want to feel that indescribable rush of adrenaline that can only be found by the acceptance of the opposite sex in the way they look at us. Of all the pictures of my wedding day, the one that will always be my favorite is a shot from when we were walking down the aisle after the ceremony was over. I was sporting my usual deer in the headlights fearful blank stare, and my wife was looking at me with THAT SAME LOOK. If only I wasn't sporting long Tiny Tim-ish hair at the time, that photo would be perfect.

But I digress...(get used to it)

I forget exactly how it happened, but we ended up being the only two left in the class (I apologize in advance for how much this sounds like a scene from a bad 80s Molly Ringwald film). I had spilled something on my hands which could possibly stain. Not a shock, considering I could find a way to damage myself with a bag of air. So I begin to attempt washing whatever it was off me. She comes over and asks me if I wanted her to help. I forget what I muttered but I know it sounded something like "um... ah... er... well... ok". So she proceeds to wash my hand for me.

Oh. My. God.

I have had dozens of sexual encounters that were nowhere near as sensual as this girl's hand washing. I knew by the way she looked at me that she could tell I was reeeaaally liking this, and she was liking me liking it. We were completely silent. It was the moment I knew that a girl could make me feel things my friends couldn't come close to. This was the most exciting thing to ever happen in my life. When I was 8 I saw Phil Esposito score on his brother Tony right in front of me (3rd row in the corner) to win a playoff game in Boston Garden in overtime, a sight that made me jump so high out of my seat that my dad thought I was going to try to climb over the glass. Up to this point, that was the most exciting moment ever. Immediately it became #2. I don't know if she knew exactly what she was doing or was just using it as an excuse to stick around, but from that moment on I needed to spend as much time as humanly possible around this girl.

She was my first obsession, and undoubtedly my most innocent one. I didn't even dream of sex with her. Geez, I was only 14. I just wanted to be around her. It excited me to be near her. I was scared of doing anything to mess this up. When we would make out on her couch I'd think about touching her breast but I never would because I was scared she'd get pissed off at me. I didn't want to screw up this perfect feeling I had. I remember trying to beat around the bush and ask her friend what she might do if I touched her boob (yet another cringe-worthy moment in retrospect), but she just kept asking what I was talking about until I gave up. Not good with the coy.


I probably have better memories of her than any other girl I ever spent time with, definitely because of the innocence of it all. But I also realize it was my introduction to the feeling of lust. Pretty pedestrian lust mind you, but pretty darn real at the time. I remember her greeting me at the door one summer day wearing a halter top...trust me, no Cosmo cover or Playboy spread looked as good to me as she did that moment. I still remember the way her panty lines looked. I remember the way she walked. But more than anything else, I remember the way she looked at me. No one has quite looked at me that way until my wife. I don't remember if we even argued about anything. It was about as perfect as young love could be.

I went to her house every night I was allowed to. We sat on the couch, watched TV, listened to the radio, made out until her mom told us to stop. I even loved her family. Her mom welcomed me gregariously the first time I met her, and always made me feel welcome. Her younger sister was quite nice and may possibly have had one of those crushes younger sisters have on their older sibling's boyfriend - not sure, but I think maybe. Her younger brother could sometimes be an annoying little shit but also quite likable...we'd discuss hockey and school and more hockey. Her dad was a fisherman so he was away for long stretches, but when he was around he seemed to genuinely like me. I felt at home there...much more than at my own house. So much so that I'd stay until the last moment I could, and then run all the way home so I wouldn't be too late after curfew. I remember Lindsay Buckingham's "Trouble" was a hit, and it seemed like when I started to realize I was going to be late getting home again, that song would play on the radio. I was always a bit late, but not late enough to keep me from going there the next night. I had it down to a science.

Which brings me back to her dad and the drunken anecdote I previously mentioned.

Her family was always a little wary around their dad. Not scared mind you...just a little guarded. As an adult I now know exactly why, but as a kid I didn't see it. He was fine to me, he wasn't a jerk to them. Not a prob, thought an innocent boy!

One night as I was prepared to leave and run home like usual he offered to drive me home. Perfect, I thought. Almost immediately the rest of the family started first trying to convince him not to drive me home, and then started to shake their heads, mouth noooooo to me, and make the cutting gesture across their throats. Have I mentioned that I was completely unworldly and very much obtuse at this age? No? Well, I was. I've thought about this many times over the last 30 years, and I can't believe I didn't connect the dots, but I was just confused by their objections.

You know where this going, right? Dad was drunk. Pissed. Hammered. Whatever your local colloquialism for pie-eyed is, that's what it was. Looking back, I don't even think I figured it out that night. It just eventually dawned on me some time later. Anyhow, dad did succeed to get me home safely. As I'm getting out of the car, he grabs my arm and says something that I will never forget as long as I live. "Tim, I'm going to give you a piece of advice that I wish someone had have given me when I was younger". He paused thoughtfully, then continued.

"If you're ever making love to another man's wife on a water bed, make sure the window is open because there is no damn way to get under one of those things".

Insert awkward silence here.

Leslie's dad had just confessed to nailing a married woman, and quite possibly cheating on his own, to his daughter's 14 year old boyfriend. I could not muster up any form of response. I was completely dumbfounded.

Then he nonchalantly added "And I trust you'll never repeat that to my daughter", let me out of the car, and drove off.

There are parts of this post that I'm not 100% sure of every detail, but not this part. I remember everything. I remember the interior of the car (burgundy upholstery, wood grain dash). I remember it was a little chilly. I remember standing there as he drove off, having no possible way to process what I just heard. I barely knew what he meant at all. Until my brother got a water bed years later, I didn't even fully understand it. I remember looking under it specifically because of what Mr. Leslie had said and going "OOHHHHH!!!!"

If I could narrow it down to one surreal moment in my life, that is it. No question.

And I never told Leslie. I never told anyone for years and years. That was me and drunken dad's shared moment. As I've been writing this I've considered finding Leslie just to get her to read this, because I feel people should know that they've made a lasting positive impression on someone. I'm a happily married man, it was almost 30 years ago, but I'd be interested in knowing that someone was writing something like this about me. But that one story guarantees I never will. I can't. There are some things about your parents you don't need to know, and the benefit of adulthood tells me she probably had enough issues with her father without me adding to it 30 years postmortem.

So what happened with Leslie? She eventually dumped me. She became the first woman to break my heart. And in one of the worst ways possible too. She dumped me for a friend of mine. That's what happens in junior high, right? I honestly wouldn't have remembered how crushed I was if it wasn't for some sage advice from my (always older than his age) 19 year old brother. I remember him walking into my room, seeing I was still glum, and saying something that has also never left my memory.

"I know you're upset, and that's natural. But remember one thing...there are over 3 billion women in the world. Don't get too hung up over one girl."

And then he left. That was some of the best dating advice I have ever received, and is as wise then as it is now. Sure, be upset. Get it out of your system. It's normal to feel crappy. But for crying out loud, move on after awhile. Pining your life away for something that's not meant to be won't do anyone any good.

I've only seen Leslie once in the last 15 years. I walked into a convenience store and there she was. She had barely aged. She looked almost exactly the same. She still made my heart jump. It was like time reversed. There was this pretty thing I used to have all these feelings for, and there I was once again barely able to summon up a sentence. By this time I was working full-time in radio...I was literally making my living talking...yet in this one moment I had no idea what to say. I wanted to tell her all the profound things my time with her had taught me. I wanted to tell her I still remembered her washing my hand. I wanted to tell her that I had quite often thought about that summer endearingly, in a Wonder Years kind of way. She was definitely my Winnie.

But I also feared that if I started telling her all these things it would come off as creepy and stalker-esque. I was unsure if I could convey to her the innocence behind all these memories. I was 95% sure I would scare the shit out of her. So I didn't venture to that time and place. I made a little small talk and left hastily. She still made me that kid who lacked confidence, and therefor I had to quickly find a way to avoid her.

For one minute, I was 14 again.

Later that summer, I met the woman who became my wife. The more I type, the more I realize I married someone much like Leslie. They're quite similar in personality, in looks, and most definitely in the way they made me feel when we first started dating. I never once thought of that before this very moment. It's amazing what you'll learn about yourself when you start purging your psyche. In a way, I married my first love. She just happened to be a different person.

And I'm not worried about touching her boob.