Jane was the new girl in school. She had bouncy pigtails and was the only girl I ever knew who wore red, low-top, boy’s Converse basketball shoes — unusual, quirky, and ahead of her time. I had to get to know her. I chased her down one afternoon and we talked for a few minutes. She was a cutie and I could tell after the first sentence that she thought she was smarter than everyone else. I was sixteen and thought of myself as being sophisticated, even though the opposite was true. We dated a few times before school closed for two weeks for potato harvest. During harvest, I drove spud trucks for Gail Clement in Osgood and she helped her father who was harvesting his potatoes in Ririe. We talked on the phone a few times and I discovered that she thought she was in charge of everything on her father’s farm, and she probably was. We dated a few more times in what turned out to be a friendly tug-of-war. Mental gymnastics wasn’t what I had in mind and without telling Jane, I put her on the back burner. I simply stopped calling and assumed Jane would get the message. My behavior didn’t have a name back then beyond bad manners. Today they call this "GHOSTING" — when you just disappear from a relationship, job, or position without saying a word. Did I mention that I was 16, and had not refined my interpersonal skills or manners, let alone realize the nuances of dating? Previously I had dated a few other girls and mostly found that I was no longer their main squeeze when I saw them dating other boys. I thought it would be the same for girls. For a time, talking with her about all of this seemed like a good idea, but the longer I put it off, the more difficult it became. I was soon distracted by girls who did not like to press their opinions; girls who smiled and blinked their eyes when they talked with me. I avoided crossing paths for a few weeks — then it happened. One late afternoon, I rounded the corner and began walking down the long south hallway at the high school when someone came through the doors at the other end. At first, I couldn’t tell who was walking towards me. By the time I realized that it was Jane, it was too late for avoidance, so I just continued walking. I intended to walk by with confidence —bad idea. As we passed in the hallway, Jane wound up and planted a perfect sucker punch to my upper abdomen, bringing me to my knees, gasping for air. Without a word, she continued walking down the hallway. I was embarrassed and looked around. My biggest concern was that someone had seen me getting beaten up by a girl. There were no witnesses to compound my surprise and embarrassment. Wisely, I told no one. Jane and I did not cross paths until about ten years later when we rode up the chairlift together at Kelly Canyon. It was a pleasant ride up to the top. I learned that she was the head nurse for a transplant unit in a big hospital in Dallas. She learned that I was the Chief Resident in Urology at a big hospital in St. Louis. We did not discuss our previous encounter and wished each other well as we went our separate ways. Zipping down the hill, I thought to myself that long ago we both probably learned lessons about how not to end a relationship. Ever vigilant, RT
Comentarios