Jewell’s Love Story Vol. 2

As I’ve said before, I’m not an expert.  I don’t have a degree in sex or relationships.  Even my psychology ‘degree’ is the minor attachment to my Investigative Forensics Bachelors.  So, I thought it only fitting to give you my own experience in love.  You’ve read some of my most recent experiences, so let’s start at the beginning!  If you haven’t read Volume 1, head on over and read it first.

The summer before high school he and I ‘dated’, but what was dating at 14?  Parents taking us to the movies, watching Nascar at his house with his parents, going to church on Sunday with his family.  Our definition of dating at 14 and dating in our late twenties has evolved.  We’re also pre-cellphone popularity age.  Shocking, I know.  There was once a time when not everyone had a cell phone and if you did there were no apps or internet or texting.  It was a Jurassic age, but I digress.

We spent two beautiful months talking on the landline (that’s a house phone, for you GenXers) and on AIM (that was the Facebook Messenger of the millennial age).  We talked about everything and without the daily reminder of him, the red-headed boy was off my mind.

Except he wasn’t.  Whether through chat or phone, we stayed in contact and I would consider this also in the top ten regrets.  My mother was on a fishing trip the second time we hung out.  This time, we broke all sorts of rules.  HE came to my house.  This was taboo.  I had a boyfriend.  My mother wasn’t at home.  This meeting catapulted my feelings for him.  He made me feel on that day things that I’d never felt.  Don’t get the wrong idea.  We never ‘touched’ each other.  We never kissed.  But there was an undeniable tension there and even spoken desires on his end that would later result in my budding first relationship to end.

He never stepped foot in my house.  Instead, we spent the bright, sunny, hot summer day outside.  Roller skating was still cool, so I skated.  I’ll be honest, he was on wheels, but I don’t remember what kind.  There are three life-changing events this day that will result in heartbreak, a lot of my own.  We were on the side porch and he had me ‘pinned’ against the wall.  Still no touching.  I told you it wasn’t physical.  But the sheer lack of physical contact was, for a lack of a better word, arousing.

He spoke to me like he truly wanted me and that feeling from a man was uncalled of.  I am the definition of daddy issues.  When I was born, my dad was playing video games.  My parents split when I was two and the new man was there.  He has his own son though and two years later he and my mother had my sister.  At this time, the whereabouts of my birth father was unknown.  My step-dad soon became my adopted dad and don’t you know a year or two later, my parents split up.  I have a few memories of my dad.  I remember loading the dishwasher with my CD player headphones on singing a really loud, poorly spoken rendition of a Japanese anime song.  I don’t speak Japanese, but after 100s of listenings, I thought I knew the words.  He got mad because I was annoying.  My mom thought I couldn’t hear them, but there was bickering louder than my music about me stopping.

I hated him for a long time after my parents split; I blamed him for breaking up with my mom even though it was mutual and for making my mom moved us back to the East coast.  It was never his fault though.  It was just a product of the circumstance.  But I always felt like the blonde-headed stepchild.  He spent much more time with my siblings – his blood children – or at least it seems it.

The other memory I have of my dad is after my parents split up.  We were in an apartment and I needed homework help.  I didn’t get it.  He was playing with my sister and brother.  I don’t know if this really happened or if it was my subconscious, but even if it was my subconscious that’s how I felt about him at the time.

He spoke to me, not my dad, but the boy like I was a woman and made me feel things no one had ever made me feel.  It was exhilarating.  We got the call that our mother was on her way home.  At this point, we were in the front yard.  Everyone else was inside, brother, sister, brother’s sister — we have quite the fucked-up family.  He and I were saying our goodbyes with hugs and quite possibly a kiss on the cheek.  I kissed him in my memory, but it’s a memory I may not have.  He wasn’t stunned.  I was.  As a teenager, this was basically cheating.  I hate to admit it, but it wouldn’t be the last I kissed him when I was with another.


Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

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