The People I Sort of Remember: Part II

by Noise Pollution

Back in high school, my awkwardness in social situations prevented me from meeting girls. I realize that’s not exactly an uncommon thing, but hear me out. I am over six feet tall, blonde, and (at the time) I was the perfect weight for my height. I was pretty attractive. I hung out in the right “cliques,” too. If I had the charisma to match the rest of me, I wouldn’t have had any problems. But charisma was never one of my strong points. I made friends because they sat near me and would laugh at my dark jokes about whatever the teacher was speaking about, not because I was a people person.

One of these friends, we’ll call him “M” (I’ll be talking about him in another one of these) was extremely pushy about me getting a girlfriend. M was kind of an asshole. He didn’t have any trouble with girls, and I think he thought that I shouldn’t, either. At some point, he passed my cell phone number on to one of his exes, in the hopes that  that would go somewhere. Well, he actually wanted it to go as far as it could go. His intention was to get me laid, in an attempt to cure me of my nervousness. This girl was described to me as a total slut, and I was told she’d do anything with anyone. Misogynistic bullshit aside, I was depressed and lonely and decided I’d just fucking go with it. I’d go get laid, and get M and my other friends off of my fucking back, finally.

We’re going to call her “S”.

The first message S sent me was asking me about my size. You know what I mean by that. I actually had never, you know, measured myself before. I had to go through that process, and then answered honestly. I’m not going to tell you any more details about that conversation, and I doubt you want to know.

I felt like that being our first text exchange confirmed to me what M had told me about her being a slut. (To be clear, that is no longer a term I use. It’s misogynistic and horrible, but sixteen-year-old males tend to be misogynistic and horrible.) I was looking forward to meeting her. I was looking forward to it so much. M didn’t date anyone but perfect fucking tens, I had a lot to look forward to. We were sexting and texting frequently, and I was super happy.

S had a boyfriend.

S’s boyfriend was a fucking asshole. I don’t say that term lightly. S’s boyfriend was abusive. He was an idiot who spoke with his fists because he didn’t know enough words to speak with his mouth. I thought I could “save” this girl. What a fucking stupid, naive thing to think. People don’t want to be saved, they want to do the saving. The whole time I was trying rescue S, she was trying to keep herself together while trying to (half-assedly, I have to admit) save her boyfriend.

S didn’t have it in her to save anyone. She loved drama and sex way too much to be able to save anyone with her heart. She had already cheated and been caught cheating on her boyfriend numerous times before I came into the picture. I had no fucking idea what I was getting into, but I was young and naive enough that even if I did, I don’t know if I would have acted any different.

To be honest, I wasn’t really in the picture all that much. She found out I was a virgin (at that time), and felt horrible about the idea of taking someone’s virginity in her position. I still pursued her, though. I played the “nice guy who only really cares about himself” role perfectly. I showered her in complements, listened to her vent about her “terrible” life, and told her none of it was her fault, all over text, since she lived too far away to walk.

It was all bullshit. Everything she said to me, and everything I said to her was complete and total bullshit. I was looking for something from her that she wasn’t going to give, and she was using me as a boost to her ego. It was a take-take relationship. There was nothing good there. It was the most unhealthy relationship possible, and I hadn’t even seen her face.

When I finally got my drivers license, I decided to meet her. I got lost on my way to her house, as new drivers tend to do. We weren’t going to have a lot of time to see each other, so me getting lost only made the situation worse. When I got there, it started raining. I saw her for the first time, standing in her doorway, with raindrops falling down all around her. She was beautiful. We sat on her porch, sharing an umbrella. We were touching. We were close. We were cold. She was leaning against me. I could see her breath in the cold air, and I watched it slowly fall off of her lips and onto my body.

I was silent. Something was supposed to come from this. This kind of beautiful moment only happens in movies, right? Why was I being so fucking quiet? I just had to turn my head, and we’d be together forever. We’d seal our future with an incredible kiss, and everything would be perfect for the rest of our lives. I could hear M shouting at me inside my mind. Turn your fucking head, you dumbass, she wants you! This is your only fucking chance!

Nothing happened.

After several minutes of silence, she eventually started talking about her boyfriend again. Her “sometimes there, but usually not” conscience had finally kicked in. She talked about how she loved him, in spite of his flaws. She may have even been crying, I’m not sure. It was raining pretty hard.

I left.

I was not in the right. I didn’t do the right thing. Not once, during any of our interactions, did I behave in a way that concerned anybody but myself. I’m not really sorry, though. I’m sorry to myself, that I have these memories. I wish that I could look back on that time in my life and be proud of myself, but I can’t.

I don’t have any feelings for S. I never did, but I told myself that I did so that I could feel better about the situation. I told myself a lot of things when I was talking to S. None of them were true. To be honest, I hated her. I hated her so much. I hate cheaters. It’s such a completely shitty thing to do, and I’ve never had a relationship where it didn’t end with me being cheated on. I hated S. But I told her that I loved her so that I could be with somebody. It was wrong. I was being a bad person, she was being a bad person, and her boyfriend was being a bad person. It was a fucking mess.

I have to remember her so that I remember to only say what I mean. I need to remember her so that I don’t let my own desperation get in the way of being a good person ever again. I need to remember that I have done wrong. I have been hurt, but I need to remember S so that I can remember that I have hurt, too.