First Exploration II
By the time I finally acquired my first boyfriend at age 17 (as those in elementary school don't really count), my ideas of love and romance had already been hardwired into my head. Information from teen magazines formed a foundation of misinformation, while Romeo and Juliet and countless romantic comedies built the frame of my concept of LOVE.
I expected sonnets and serenades and big grandiose efforts made in the name of love. I bought into the idea that a kiss with your lover would be almost electric.
Charles became my first boyfriend because he was the first boy who ever gave me the attention I craved. He was sweet and caring, opening every door for me, pulling out chairs - the first Southern gentleman I'd met.
While I buried it shortly after they'd occurred because they didn't fit into our "perfect" relationship," I remember one particular day at the very beginning of our three years together that challenged my definitions of love and romance.
It was the summer of 2002, and we had just started dating. We took a short drive to the Kokomo Park, where they were hosting a Kokomo Park Band concert - a group my clarinet instructor played with and I had thoroughly enjoyed in the past. We seated ourselves on folding chairs on the lawn and eagerly anticipated the start of the concert (or I did, anyway). The band was slated to play patriotic songs, as Independence Day was days away.
As the band played, a woman a few seats a way began to sing the words. I smiled, appreciating her enthusiasm even if she was tone-deaf. Charles, on the other hand, became visibly irritated. He started mocking the woman and complaining about the quality of the music and begging to leave early.
I can't remember whether we did leave at that point or stuck it out...but I do know that my enjoyment of the concert from that point on was much diminished. ("America the Beautiful" is not quite as beautiful with a heavy sigh inserted every thirty seconds.)
But the evening did not end there.
Charles had brought along some steaks to grill at the park (one of those "grandiose efforts" I had been taught to expect) and I sat down at a picnic table near the grill. He grumbled about the condition of the grates (looking back, it blows my mind that he didn't bring a grill brush) but placed the steaks on the grill anyway. I sipped my Vanilla Coke happily as he sat down next to me.
"I love you," he said.
I smiled, flattered but unprepared to repeat his words. "Thank you."
His expression changed, approaching anger. He repeated himself, and kept his eyes focused on me as his eyebrows threatened to climb past his hairline.
At this point, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable under the pressure. "I don't think I can say that right now." (We were still in the first week of courtship, mind you.)
He slid closer on the bench and posed a question. "Why can't you say it? It's just a word."
I fidgeted a bit, seeking the right words to explain. "Well, it's not 'just a word' to me. It means something. And I don't think we've known each other long enough to feel that way."
Apparently my words were not delicate enough. He snorted like a bull and - maybe this was my imagination - seemed to have taken on a red hue. "What do you mean we haven't known each other long enough? We've been talking since April." He paused. "I feel that way about you. Why can't you just say it? It's just a word."
Ultimately, I ended up saying the word that I knew at the core of my being was not just a word. I gave him what he wanted to stop from feeling like a predator's prey.
He smiled and turned back to the grill after I'd caved to the pressure. I watched him remove the ruined steaks from the grill and throw them at the nearest tree, I felt powerless. I watched the meat as it slid down the tree, unable to fight the pull of gravity through no fault of its own.
Charles turned away from the grill and picked up the case of Vanilla Coke. "Let's go get something to eat." I silently followed him to his truck, knowing - if only in that moment - that I had locked myself in a cage and given him the key.
I expected sonnets and serenades and big grandiose efforts made in the name of love. I bought into the idea that a kiss with your lover would be almost electric.
Charles became my first boyfriend because he was the first boy who ever gave me the attention I craved. He was sweet and caring, opening every door for me, pulling out chairs - the first Southern gentleman I'd met.
While I buried it shortly after they'd occurred because they didn't fit into our "perfect" relationship," I remember one particular day at the very beginning of our three years together that challenged my definitions of love and romance.
It was the summer of 2002, and we had just started dating. We took a short drive to the Kokomo Park, where they were hosting a Kokomo Park Band concert - a group my clarinet instructor played with and I had thoroughly enjoyed in the past. We seated ourselves on folding chairs on the lawn and eagerly anticipated the start of the concert (or I did, anyway). The band was slated to play patriotic songs, as Independence Day was days away.
As the band played, a woman a few seats a way began to sing the words. I smiled, appreciating her enthusiasm even if she was tone-deaf. Charles, on the other hand, became visibly irritated. He started mocking the woman and complaining about the quality of the music and begging to leave early.
I can't remember whether we did leave at that point or stuck it out...but I do know that my enjoyment of the concert from that point on was much diminished. ("America the Beautiful" is not quite as beautiful with a heavy sigh inserted every thirty seconds.)
But the evening did not end there.
Charles had brought along some steaks to grill at the park (one of those "grandiose efforts" I had been taught to expect) and I sat down at a picnic table near the grill. He grumbled about the condition of the grates (looking back, it blows my mind that he didn't bring a grill brush) but placed the steaks on the grill anyway. I sipped my Vanilla Coke happily as he sat down next to me.
"I love you," he said.
I smiled, flattered but unprepared to repeat his words. "Thank you."
His expression changed, approaching anger. He repeated himself, and kept his eyes focused on me as his eyebrows threatened to climb past his hairline.
At this point, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable under the pressure. "I don't think I can say that right now." (We were still in the first week of courtship, mind you.)
He slid closer on the bench and posed a question. "Why can't you say it? It's just a word."
I fidgeted a bit, seeking the right words to explain. "Well, it's not 'just a word' to me. It means something. And I don't think we've known each other long enough to feel that way."
Apparently my words were not delicate enough. He snorted like a bull and - maybe this was my imagination - seemed to have taken on a red hue. "What do you mean we haven't known each other long enough? We've been talking since April." He paused. "I feel that way about you. Why can't you just say it? It's just a word."
Ultimately, I ended up saying the word that I knew at the core of my being was not just a word. I gave him what he wanted to stop from feeling like a predator's prey.
He smiled and turned back to the grill after I'd caved to the pressure. I watched him remove the ruined steaks from the grill and throw them at the nearest tree, I felt powerless. I watched the meat as it slid down the tree, unable to fight the pull of gravity through no fault of its own.
Charles turned away from the grill and picked up the case of Vanilla Coke. "Let's go get something to eat." I silently followed him to his truck, knowing - if only in that moment - that I had locked myself in a cage and given him the key.
Criticism II
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