Cafe Leone

+ =

What else can I say? The math says it all!

Question for BoMR: Do people say you look like anyone famous?

Powered by Zoundry

funny | 3 Comments »

“Dorothy, we are going ice skating. Wanna come? We are leaving in thirty minutes.”

“OK. I’ll meet you guys there.”

“Why don’t we walk up together?”

“I don’t want to. I want to be alone and go up on my own.”

“But, it is cold and there is a ton of snow on the ground. Let me walk with you.”

“I said NO. Why can’t you understand that when I say no, it means no.”

“I am sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I just want to be alone. I can’t say the same things over and over again. I just want to be alone.”

“But you don’t ever want to be alone. Please tell me what I did wrong?”

“Never mind. I don’t want to go now.”

“Dorothy, please tell me what is going on.”

“Is it something I said?”

“No”

“Something I did?”

“NO!”

“Then what is going on?”

“Listen, Dan. I need to go.”

Dorothy hung up the phone.

Thus began a paraphrase of my first ever “lover’s quarrel.” This happened when I was in 6th grade so I am not sure that “lover’s quarrel” is really the term, but it certainly felt as if someone stuck a rusty butter knife into the back of my throat. Of course, I don’t remember the exact conversation but it was something similar to the above.

Dorothy and I had dated through the winter of the 6th grade and she was certainly the more worldly of the two. I sat in stunned silence as she explained and partially demonstrated “the bases.” I remember feeling sick to my stomach and then extremely enthusiastic as she showed me what a French kiss was. She and I went to the beach with my family and we placed our towels close together and buried our arms in the sand and held our hands supposedly so that no one would see us. Of course, everyone saw us. I also realized that I was unable to turn over onto my back for fear of sharing with the world just how “enthused” I had become. She smelled like Coast brand deodorant soap.

We went to the movies together, made out behind the Y, otherwise known as “necking”, met friends for a boys vs girls softball game at St John’s Seminary. Life could not be better.

The relationship ended when, on that cold and miserable day, we all decided to go ice skating. Back in the 6th grade I was the clown who could do a dramatic fall on the ice that would put Jack Tripper to shame. Girls would laugh for days and I was famous. Dorothy, fiery Irish lass that she was, seemed to be finished with me LONG before I was finished with her. I didn’t go skating that day but I did call one of our mutual friends and asked her if she had spoken to Dorothy.

“Does she still like me?”

“I think so. She said you had a nice body in your tight Vinny Barbarino T-shirt. But she also said that you ask too many questions.”

“Huh?”

“She said that you think too much and ask too many questions.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

I hung up the phone on Lisa and immediately called Dorothy.

“Hi Dorothy. I was just wondering if you were OK.”

“Dan. I don’t want to talk about things anymore.”

“Anymore!? I don’t even know what is happening so how can I stop talking about it?”

“Dan, I just need you to STOP taking my temperature!”

She yelled that one into the phone so the entire world could hear. At the time, I didn’t really understand what that meant. My heart bottomed out as my image of me became tarnished. I made someone angry. I annoyed her so much that it built up inside her until it erupted in this angry outburst. I was no longer cute. I was no longer funny. I was someone who could affect people negatively. I had the power to get under someone’s skin and not just their underwear.

I spent the entire 7th grade with my head buried in either my books or the stinky part of my couch or walking the aisles of the supermarket to smell the Coast deodorant soap while Dorothy flirted with Donald Kennedy. Rumor had it that she let him take a HUGE lead off third base.

As so often happens, and as it is so obligated to do, we went to different schools and even though she lived not a half mile from my house, I never saw Dorothy again.

In nearly 100 percent of all female relationships I have had since then, I have had to have this exact same conversation with them. Whether “just friends” or lovers, I have been told that I need to “Stop talking my temperature.” To this day, even as I am a married man, I still feel that I have never learned that lesson.

Question for BoMR: Do you remember your first heartbreak?

Technorati : first heartbreak, writing
Del.icio.us : first heartbreak, writing

Powered by Zoundry

writing | 4 Comments »