Wednesday, February 09, 2011

wifercize wednesday: crushes, part 2


Welcome to Part 2 of my discomfiting chronicle of grade school and high school crushes.  Your comments are not only appreciated but necessary to the purging process.  Don't leave me hanging.

Now, where were we?  Grade 11?

My obligatory crush on a poster boy for the 90s (long, greasy hair, wore plaid shirts, rocked out to Green Day and Nirvana) came in the form of Blair Brandon.  On Valentine's Day our school organized several "O-Grams" that students could purchase and the money benefited...something.  No doubt our swim team.  Malvern had an amazing swim team.  I was not on it.  One option was a "Stalker-O-Gram" or "Picture-O-Gram" or something equivalent - it could be purchased anonymously, and required someone to take a picture of your crush on your behalf, delivering it to you a few days later since I went to high school in the 90s and WE STILL USED FILM.  When the photo of Blair Brandon, donning his signature backwards Boston Bruins baseball cap, arrived secretly during homeroom class I swore I would never throw it out.  That was until he slow danced with my best friend at our school's video dance party later that month to Seal's Kiss From a Rose.  Which not only broke my heart but also destroyed my image of his cool, 90s charade.  Seal is so mainstream.

I was Luke Lockyer's girlfriend a total of four times.  Each time, I broke up with him.  The first time, we remained an item for the duration of history class (with Mr. Nider), geography class (with Mr. Butts - no joke), the period of 12 hours following (spent at our respective houses, sleeping), and before morning announcements I had broken up with him.  Via a letter I gave to him via a mutual friend.  The details of other three times allude me, but they were similar in cowardice.  Via his pager (remember pagers?), via the phone, etc.  We wrote bad poetry to each other.  Not bad-indecent, just bad-clumsy.  He wrote one entitled "Confusion" (no doubt due to our on-again-off-again relationship status) and I responded, appropriately, with "Confusion: The Reply".  Suddenly Melissa Etheridge's lyrics meant so much when I heard them on _____, "I don't care what they think / I don't care what they say / what do they know about this love anyway?", and when I reheard them on mix cassettes from Luke.  He went out on a limb and began writing song lyrics of his own for me and made a mix cassette of those too: "I'm walking in the snow / Like Pierre Elliot Trudeau" touched me deeply although it's impossible to say why.  We may have continued our volatile relationship had it not been for my switch to private school for my OAC year.  That, and my brothers' discovery of Luke's musical debut on tape and consequent mockery.  Which continues to this day.

Philip Holman both frustrated and intrigued me.  His marks were first in almost all our classes (I believe I beat him in English), while I couldn't shake the #2 placement, and we often sat together in alphabetized seating arrangements, Holman and Hunter.  Although his intelligence drew me in, his constant teasing (and the stubborn fact that I was a sore loser) guaranteed that the crush never fully developed.  Jerk.

A friend of mine, Charis, asked when I was going to write about the boys who crushed on me.  A valid question, and one that is mighty temping (I still have old poems and hijinxs committed to memory), but my story is the only one I can tell properly and it delves into the touchy subject of exes which I have written about previously.  Besides, the only boy who crushed on me that matters is the one who I married.

2 comments:

Andrew G said...

I think this is great but I'm glad I get you for myself.

Charis said...

This decision to tell only your story is very true and fair. But having been a witness to a hijinx or two, much less entertaining. I'll just have to remember and giggle on my own.