Once there was a boy...

I fell in love with Michael when he was a junior and I was a senior in High School. I was sitting by the senior class lockers the very first time I laid eyes on him; he turned the corner with three ninth grade girls surrounding him. They were following him like a mini harem. He spoke to a blonde girl who I knew was also a junior. There he was carrying his books, wearing acid wash jeans, a dark denim jacket and white high-top sneakers. The blonde said something that made him throw his head back laughing and my heart literally skipped a beat, honestly, it palpitated. He was gorgeous. I couldn’t stop looking at him as he passed by. I asked aloud to anyone, “Who is that?” Ellen answered, “Oh, that’s Mike.”

“Mike?” Really? This was the guy I’d been hearing about? The one most of the girls from grades nine through eleven were swooning over? I had no idea he was really worth the gossip. There was no reason for me to pay much attention before this. I mean, I was a senior he was a junior. I’d just returned from New York and heard this guy was from some itty bitty place down south. I was unhappy enough about having to move back to Puerto Rico where nothing interesting was happening. Finding a boyfriend was not in the plan. My focus was on trying to get back to New York somehow. But something happened to me I still cannot explain, I announced right then and there, “He is going to be mine.” Just like that, I fell head over heels.

Michael and I spoke for the first time at a Halloween party the following weekend. It was the first time I’d heard him speak with that southern accent of his. I’d never thought southern accents were hot but his was sexy as hell. He interrupted a conversation I was having and I called him on it. He smiled and made an apology but kept talking anyway. The boy was arrogant. Even though I stood my ground and interrupted him in return, his attempt at charm did make me all tingly inside. He seemed to get a kick out of me not letting him get his way too.

A few days later I was waiting on the lunch line and Michael (I never called him Mike) walked from the back of the line to talk to some ninth grade girls who were standing behind me. They let him cut. They were giggling and flinging their hair. I laughed at the scene they were making. He saw me laugh and moved closer. He shifted in front of me, starting up a conversation. We introduced ourselves, since we hadn’t the weekend before then chatted until it was his turn to order, that’s when I stepped in front of him and ordered first. I said to his stunned expression, “They let you cut in front of them, I didn’t.” He shook his head and laughed while I carried my tray to a table.  

We ran into one another several times in the next few weeks. Each time we played this game where he tried to charm me and I’d pretend it wasn’t working. The truth was he’d already swept me off my feet. It was as if we had all the time in the world. Nothing and no one had ever felt more right. He would one day tell me that it had been the same for him.

In November there was a Sadie Hawkins dance. I invited him to go and he said yes. Later I found out that he’d broken a date with someone else in order to go with me. I felt a little guilty but not enough to call it off. It was unfortunate; I should have cancelled because the date didn’t go very well. He hung out with his friends all night and I was bored to death. I’d mistakenly thought he was someone special. I was angry and annoyed. So, I did what I usually do… simply walked away without looking back.

It wasn’t until the Christmas dance more than a month later that he caught my attention again. I was having a hard day on the last day of classes before Christmas vacation. The dance was that night and I’d decided not to go. I was sitting by the lockers crying about a high school drama of some kind. Michael and one of his friends came over to me and asked what was wrong. I have no idea why but I answered him. After listening to my sob story he put both of his arms around me and let me cry until all I could do was hiccup. Then he complemented my blotchy face. He didn’t mind that his shirt was all wet with tears and makeup. He didn’t mind that I kept blowing my nose. He even said I could use his shirt since it wasn’t one of his favorites. It was the first time of many that he got me to laugh my tears away. Michael then convinced me to meet him at the dance later. When I got there he was waiting outside so we could walk in together. We had our first kiss that night. And, soon afterwards we had our first real date. We went to eat pizza and then walked hand in hand down to the beach. We sat on a huge boulder and talked about everything we could think of in-between many more kisses.

For the rest of the school year we were barely apart. I was the only reason he would follow the rules and he was the only reason I wouldn’t. His mother once apologized to me for threatening him with not seeing me because I was she explained, “the only thing he cared about.” It was the truth. And, he was always doing something outrageous to let me know how much he loved me.

There was the time he climbed onto the roof of an old abandoned hospital near our school and graffiti’d on three sides of it, MIKE LOVES LISA in silver spray paint. We could see it from the school campus. Everyone saw it. Of course, that meant the teachers did too. He got into trouble and was told to go back up and paint over it. He never did.

Once he skateboarded to my house, in a hurricane. I don’t mean heavy rains; I mean an actual Caribbean Island hurricane with falling trees, power outages and winds that could move parked cars. On his way over he was knocked off of his skateboard and scraped his whole side, from hip to calf. His reason for doing it, if he “had to be stuck indoors for a few days, it was going to be with [me]."

Another time, hanging around after a concert in San Juan, we were mugged. We were facing one another Michael, holding onto me with one hand and with the other holding our concert t-shirts. He was grabbed from behind by a guy who was at least a head taller and holding a knife. While the guy held Michael’s arms down a bunch of kids ran over and started to pick his pockets. He kept yelling at me to run but I wouldn’t. How could I leave him there alone? He’d been threatened, punched and was bleeding from his mouth. His wallet and watch were stolen too. When it was over, he was still holding my hand and the t-shirts. He lowered his head, took a few moments to compose himself. He then put his arm around me, kissed me with his busted lip and handed me the shirts. He was more of a man at the age of seventeen than any “adult” male I’d ever known. He was my hero.

Before things would end two years later there would be a loss of virginity, a Prom, a summer spent in North Carolina, a visit to New York, a proposal and a ring. Michael joined the Army so I would say yes to marriage. He figured it was the best way to prove he could take care of me since we were both so young. All wonderful memories that both break my heart and make me smile when I think back. Ironically, he met and fell in love with someone else while he was stationed in Oklahoma and that was the end of our love story. But, I know what we shared once was real on both our parts. And, I still have the ring.

Michael was the first person besides family who loved me unconditionally. He loved when I was strong and when I was a weepy mess. He gave me credit when I was right and told me when I was wrong. He knew when to stand back so I could lead and he knew when to stand in front and guide me. He thought I was pretty and sexy; silly and smart. He was romantic. He was funny. His smile was beautiful. His kisses gave me chills and his hugs could cure any bad day. He was rebellious but kind and considerate. He put me first every time. And, most importantly, he always had my back. I've never found that again.

Michael contacted me a couple of years ago. It was soothing to know he was doing well. For his privacy, let's just say I was satisfied with our reconnection and there were no loose ends left to tie up. We are two dramatically different people today. He’s happily married with three kids. I'm happily living in New York hanging with artists and Pagans. We both have lives that outside of FaceBook would never have reason to cross. We never speak but we're on each others friends' list. It eases my heart and mind to know he’s somewhere within reach. I think it does the same for him. I know he remembers me with love. And, that’s how I will always remember him.

Celebrating Singledom #3

Today I'm celebrating NOT having to compromise or share.

Recently I shared my apartment with a friend of a friend. It was great at first but soon became a bit strained. Let me clarify now... This is not a "Bash the Roomie" kind of post. This is about me acknowledging some truths about myself and my living space.

I'd never had a roommate before. I went from living at home to living alone. Literally, for one month of my adult life did I live with a boyfriend. That came to an end when I left for work one morning and he Ummm... well, he just LEFT! During that day he and his sister had "discussed it" and they decided that although he still loved me, he wasn't ready to live with me. Yeah, that's a whole other blog post.
I will say though that three months later he showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night (after seeing a Marc Anthony concert with another woman) crying and begging... yes folks, on his knee's, for another chance.
Again... that's a whole other blog post!

Anyway, my roomie was nice and for the most part he was neat but I wasn't comfortable. I just didn't feel right walking around my house doing my regular things. Watching television in the living room instead of my bedroom. Walking around braless in a tank top. Cleaning the house as early or as late as I wanted or not having to clean up at all. And, I won't even go into how upsetting it was for me to share a bathroom with a boy!

Part of it was that he and I were not romantically involved. If we had been intimate then being half dressed or sharing the bathroom wouldn't have been an issue. But, living with a romantic partner brings with it a much longer list of issues. The following is a little of what I enjoy about not just living alone but being single.

The other day I wasn't feeling well and all I wanted to do was go straight home to bed. When I got there I jumped into a nice hot shower, put on big warm silly pajamas, a fluffy bathrobe and plopped down on my couch to watch crime dramas. I just stayed there sniffling, coughing and drinking tea until I went to bed for the night. I didn't have to make conversation, worry about the TV being too loud or having to look decent for anyone. In fact, I think I looked sexy in a messy carefree sort of way. Besides being sick, it was a dream Winter weeknight for me, being able to rest comfortably without taking anyone else into consideration.

Last Friday a friend called and asked if I wanted to hang out after work and I just answered YES. I didn't have to let anyone know I was making spur of the moment plans. I didn't have to let anyone know I might be home late. I didn't have to let anyone know that I'd decided to bring that friend home to watch a movie instead.

During the weekend I was able to get up early and clean. I put on my music and cleaned out the refrigerator without disturbing anyone. I was able to clean the bathroom and not worry if someone else had to use it at that moment OR worry that they would leave toothpaste spots on the mirror (or spots of any kind anywhere) when I was done.

I could go out in the middle of the day and knew everything would be exactly as I left it when I returned. I didn't have to invite someone along when I wanted to just go out alone.

Other perks:
What I put in the refrigerator is exactly what stays there. No one eating half of something I was saving for later. No pouring a bowl of cereal only to find an ounce of milk left in the container.

I could take a nap whenever I want to without being disturbed by someone else's cooking or their music or their talking.
No one coming and going with company of their own.

My laundry is mine alone. No one else's towels, sheets or socks to wash.

Only I buy things for the house so there's no bitching about what brand something is or isn't. No one can complain about how or what I spend my money on at all.

I can decorate however I want. Buy new furniture, shelves, books or nick-knacks. Put them anywhere. Only the photos I want are hanging up. I can buy a red couch and no one has a say about it. I can move things around. Throw things out or be a pack-rat.

My home is my sanctuary. It's where I sit and think. Where I write and work. Where I welcome family and friends. My home is an expression of who I truly am.

I've wondered lately, "Will I be able to live with a partner one day?" You're probably wondering the same thing as you read this. But, honestly, I think I will be able to live with someone.
Of course it won't be easy but I haven't lost hope. When I find the person who is right for me we will create a balance. We'll give each other space to think and work. Space to create and to relax.
We'll respect one another's alone time and share in the responsibilities of maintaining a home. I know I will have to compromise some things. But until that times comes, until I find the person I'll want to compromise for and who is happy to do the same for me I will continue to enjoy my single life of NOT having to share my space.

Three cheers for warm, footsie pajama's and having sole custody of the remote control.

I'm Talkin'

People love to hear me talk. Yep, it's true.

Most of my family and friends won't admit it but it's true.

Wonder how I know this? The moment I stop talking everyone wants to know why.
I get phone calls, emails and visits.

I'm not complaining, in fact, I love it.

For the past two weeks this has been going on, then during dinner with friends on Sunday I was asked why I haven't blogged in awhile. That's when I decided I really needed to step up and write something.

So, in response...
I've taken some time away from my blog lately but it isn't because I haven't been writing. I've been working on several things, I just haven't completed any. At least, I haven't completed any to my satisfaction.
In addition to trying to keep up with my blog I've rejoined a writers' group and I have assignments to do for my Priestess Training. I'm also in the process of writing something for a project my sister is working on.

Most of my postings are summarized versions of longer pieces that come from personal essays and journal entries. Before I post anything I change names or edit someone out completely. Unless of course I'm writing about a jerk who really deserves to be called on his behavior and even then I don't name them.

In any case, it's the "editing process" that is causing me to seem lazy.

I will do my best to post soon and certainly more frequently than once a month.

Blessings!
La Lady Sage