Boys
Ryan Butts was my first boyfriend. Since we were third graders that didn't mean much. I don't think we even spent any time together beyond chasing each other around during recess. But I do remember my hurt feelings when he decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend with my friend Jennifer, instead. Standing atop the wooden castle parapet on the playground at Winterset Elementary School, I yelled down at him, "I don't care what you do, Ryan BUTTS."
When we came inside I got a talking-to from my teacher, who told me it wasn't nice to make fun of people's names.
Then in seventh grade I "dated" Andrew Thomas. I remember catching him looking at me in social studies and feeling a warm, pleasant anxiety in my stomach, like life suddenly held a whole bunch of possibilities, and I wasn't sure what to do with them. We passed notes back and forth with an intricate coding and folding system. We didn't use names – instead I was a turtle and he was a lizard. I still have some of these notes, and the tiny clay lizard he made me, tucked away in a memory box in the closet.
One day I got frustrated with Andrew because he was not aggressive enough in his attentions.
"If you want to hold my hand, you can just hold my hand," I told him in the crowded hallway on the way to the busses. "You don't have to ask."
We were together until that summer, when I started to feel like I had to cut it off before it was too late. Too late for what? I'm not sure, but there was a definite feeling that it was something I had to do sooner rather than later. I wrote him a letter and was relieved when it was over.
Looking back, I seem to have always gravitated towards timid, earnest boys. They were good people, not the kind to push or make me uncomfortable. You'd think that'd be good, but I'm not sure that was really the best match for little shy, anxious me. It put me in charge of things, which meant things went nowhere, and then they ended. Somehow I made it all the way through high school without being kissed. I desperately thought I wanted a boyfriend, but when I had the chance, I always broke up with them before we really got to know each other.
In 9th grade, I'd been dating Ryan Garner for a few weeks when he tried to corner me in a band practice room. My heart beating fast, I pushed his hands off my waist (in a casual manner, I thought at the time) and ducked under his arm, darting through the door. He didn't try again, and three weeks later I broke up with him. I can't remember why, but I have the sneaking suspicion I didn't really even like him all that much. I also knew at some point I'd have to let him kiss me.
Soon after, Tom O'Fallon held my hand on the Tower of Terror and then asked me out in the parking lot of a Burger King, with the rumble and fumes of our chartered band bus behind us. I felt like I'd led him on at that point – I let him hold my hand! – and had to say yes. For the next two weeks he met me after French class and walked me to Math, hand-copied love poems and m&ms in hand. Of course I broke up with him.
All of my boyfriends went on to have longterm relationships with other girls right after me, girls who no doubt actually wanted to date them and actually participated in the relationship. Boys stopped showing much of an interest in me, and then it was years of hiding off to the side and wondering why no one liked me that way. It's no wonder, really. Maybe I was worried boys wouldn't actually like me if I let them get to know me. Maybe I was scared of being hurt. I'm not sure what was going on in my head, but I clearly had some issues.
I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to just relax, that everything would be fine. Someday not only will boys like you, but you'll like yourself. What's better is you won't even really care if boys like you or not.
The people we are in school is such a pale imitation of what we become – we're still evolving and coming into being. It took me a long time to actually want to grow up, but that's okay. I am who I am.
When we came inside I got a talking-to from my teacher, who told me it wasn't nice to make fun of people's names.
Then in seventh grade I "dated" Andrew Thomas. I remember catching him looking at me in social studies and feeling a warm, pleasant anxiety in my stomach, like life suddenly held a whole bunch of possibilities, and I wasn't sure what to do with them. We passed notes back and forth with an intricate coding and folding system. We didn't use names – instead I was a turtle and he was a lizard. I still have some of these notes, and the tiny clay lizard he made me, tucked away in a memory box in the closet.
One day I got frustrated with Andrew because he was not aggressive enough in his attentions.
"If you want to hold my hand, you can just hold my hand," I told him in the crowded hallway on the way to the busses. "You don't have to ask."
We were together until that summer, when I started to feel like I had to cut it off before it was too late. Too late for what? I'm not sure, but there was a definite feeling that it was something I had to do sooner rather than later. I wrote him a letter and was relieved when it was over.
Looking back, I seem to have always gravitated towards timid, earnest boys. They were good people, not the kind to push or make me uncomfortable. You'd think that'd be good, but I'm not sure that was really the best match for little shy, anxious me. It put me in charge of things, which meant things went nowhere, and then they ended. Somehow I made it all the way through high school without being kissed. I desperately thought I wanted a boyfriend, but when I had the chance, I always broke up with them before we really got to know each other.
In 9th grade, I'd been dating Ryan Garner for a few weeks when he tried to corner me in a band practice room. My heart beating fast, I pushed his hands off my waist (in a casual manner, I thought at the time) and ducked under his arm, darting through the door. He didn't try again, and three weeks later I broke up with him. I can't remember why, but I have the sneaking suspicion I didn't really even like him all that much. I also knew at some point I'd have to let him kiss me.
Soon after, Tom O'Fallon held my hand on the Tower of Terror and then asked me out in the parking lot of a Burger King, with the rumble and fumes of our chartered band bus behind us. I felt like I'd led him on at that point – I let him hold my hand! – and had to say yes. For the next two weeks he met me after French class and walked me to Math, hand-copied love poems and m&ms in hand. Of course I broke up with him.
All of my boyfriends went on to have longterm relationships with other girls right after me, girls who no doubt actually wanted to date them and actually participated in the relationship. Boys stopped showing much of an interest in me, and then it was years of hiding off to the side and wondering why no one liked me that way. It's no wonder, really. Maybe I was worried boys wouldn't actually like me if I let them get to know me. Maybe I was scared of being hurt. I'm not sure what was going on in my head, but I clearly had some issues.
I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to just relax, that everything would be fine. Someday not only will boys like you, but you'll like yourself. What's better is you won't even really care if boys like you or not.
The people we are in school is such a pale imitation of what we become – we're still evolving and coming into being. It took me a long time to actually want to grow up, but that's okay. I am who I am.