Friday Flashback

I have been having lots of conversations with God lately during which I say something along the lines of: "And for THIS I'm going to wind up one bitter old woman someday." You know, the kind you see on made-for-tv movies who seems mean and withdrawn, but who you come to understand through a series of flashbacks? Yep, many times I fear that I will become her. I don't really want to get into the reasons why I see myself headed in that direction, but lately, I'm realizing that more and more of the things I hoped for in my youth are simply never going to happen for me. And, being almost 37, pregnant, and yet again having to start a career all over again a few years from now; I feel a little trapped and resentful. But, despite my best heaven-ward threats; I don't think it will ever actually happen. There are many reasons why, but one specific one happened this morning when I was awakened by the stupid bathroom fan. Dave turns it on to mask the noise he makes leaving for work at 4 a.m. I have always been super-sensitive to white noise and I find it more disruptive than any other sound and it ALWAYS keeps me awake. I've explained this to him about 1,000,000 times over the course of our marriage, but he still doesn't believe me. So there I was, wide-awake, with a very full workday ahead of me feeling angry that yet again that he just doesn't get it. And then...I must have had an actual Friday Flashback because I remembered something that I hadn't thought about in years.

Long ago, Melessa was a high school Senior. At the beginning of the school year, she entered a very small DeMolay pageant (Chapter Sweetheart, for those of you in the know) even though her boyfriend (a.k.a. The Jerk) didn't want her to. He did everything he could to sabotage her chances (mostly by complaining about her to all the DeMolay boys who were eligible to vote) and it must have been effective because the morning after the contest, but days before the winners were supposed to be announced; all the boys who voted got together, figured out that the other girl had won; and spent the entire school day rubbing my nose in it rather gleefully. The Jerk feigned great anger over this, but I'm sure he was relieved. He told me if I had any sense I would be a no-show at the pageant winner ceremony. The Jerk's best friend, however, told me that he thought just by showing up, doing my best to put on a smile, and keeping my head up even though I already knew I had lost; I would be "classier than all the other losers in the room." Most of my girlfriends felt the same way, so I sucked it up and went through with the ceremony that Friday night. Yes, it was hell. Not as bad as a few things that I've since experienced, but I certainly remember it painfully and I'm sure I always will.

Saturday night was a dance in Oklahoma City. It was an informal dance lodge youth dance where we could actually wear jeans and those were rare. The guys were DJ'ing the music themselves and a lot of my friends were members at that host lodge. For some reason, when that particular lodge held a dance, it was more likely that all of our buddies from Ponca City would be there as well. (Ponca City is a LONG drive from the OKC Metro when you are 16, and you have to talk an adult chaperone into making it since you can't drive yourself.) Sure, I was sad about all that had transpired night before and a little nervous about how I would weather the gossip, but there was no way I was going to let that keep me from dancing to New Kids and Tiffany in my favorite acid-wash jeans. Besides, my buddy Johnny would be in from Ponca City and I hadn't seen him in forever. He had had a big crush on me for years and I found it terribly inconvenient in terms of our friendship. BUT, you couldn't help but love the guy and after Friday night's heartbreak; I really wanted to see him. The Jerk, who usually accompanied me to things like this, said I was an idiot for thinking any of these people were still my friends and sent me off alone. I hadn't been expecting that. And I was a little nervous when we arrived. Sure enough the other John from Ponca City was a huge ass to me and made me immediately sorry I had come. (No surprise if you know him.) Then, there were the other jerks from my own lodge who were still enjoying calling me a loser (ironically, many of them are now my Facebook friends); but for some reason I toughed out my first half-hour or so.

I finally caught up with Johnny a little bit after that. I forget now what had been keeping him busy, but he came, gave me a big hug, told me he had heard what happened the night before and that he was sorry and that I would always be HIS sweetheart. In my 17 year-old black and white mind, comments like that usually made me uncomfortable. Didn't he know I had a BOYFRIEND?! But seeing as how he hadn't called me an idiot OR a loser, it didn't bother me that night. Slow dancing with him also didn't bother me that night. And even letting him pull me really close (I was a champion arm/elbow-locker when I wanted to be) was OK. In fact, it was OK for all 5 slow songs one of his buddies (who just happened to be the DJ for the night) played in a row when he spotted Johnny so happy and me so surprisingly cooperative on the dance floor. To his credit, he just held me and let me dance. He didn't try to kiss me or, afterwards, try and engage me in any kind of conversation about "what did that all mean?!" He just was there for me.

It started there and it ended there. The dance was over soon afterwards and my loyal tendencies might allow for slow-dancing with someone else back then, but certainly nothing more. That was the second to last time I would see my good friend Johnny alive. But this morning, I didn't remember it with any sadness. Only for the sweet, pure, and happy moment that it was in my life when it happened. And as long as I have memories like that floating around in my head, I don't think I truly can become the bitter woman of made-for-TV fame. And for that, I am truly grateful. Life may not always be good or easy and I think I will spend the rest of my married life being awakened by that stupid bathroom fan, but moments like this make it tolerable; even when they few and far between and happened so long ago.