Well-Meaning Roses

This is a personal narrative essay about my first date 19 years ago and some of the pain I had today. It is super long. Enjoy! My awesome sister, Kristie, makes an appearance in this story, and I wonder if she remembers anything about it at all.

I was a 13 year old girl.

 

He was a 12 year old boy.

 

He picked me up after church camp for my first date. Michael Crain. He was so cute, and he liked me. This was going to be the best afternoon of my life. I spent hours in the morning picking out all kinds of perfect outfits before settling on a pair of white short overalls with a red long-sleeved flannel shirt. 

 

There were also horrible bangs involved. And braces.

 

Maybe I had been nervous that morning, but I don't think so. As far as I knew, this was awesome. A dream come true for an awkward pre-teen.

 

I think I remember right when the panic set in. We started walking to the mall for our hot date, and right away the plans changed. Instead of walking out of the parking lot down the ramp to the road, he said, "Let's go this way. I want to show you something. There is another way to the road."

 

I'm a sharp girl. I knew I was safe, but I also knew whatever was happening did not feel good.

 

Welcome, Diarrhea, pull up a chair and stay 'til college!  

 

We started through a set of bushes down to the road. Then, Mike said, "What's that brown bag over there? Let's check and see." I said, "It's just trash. No, let's just walk." He got nervous. I got confused. He walked a few feet back up the hill to the bag and with a cheesy look of concern said, "Well, look, what's this?" In the bag was a rose. For me. It had a birthday card attached that read "Gift certificate for anything you want at the mall."

 

"I brought 50 bucks," he said. "So, really, anything you want."

 

I was being courted by a gentleman suitor.  

 

I clammed up, and I spent the next 5 hours in a complete panic. I wanted to escape, and I did not know why. Did I not like him? Did I just not know what to do and how to act? Why was I so upset? For whatever reason, the situation made me uncomfortable, and there was no faking my way out of it. But I tried. Again, I did not understand my feelings, but no feelings had ever felt more real. I wanted this boy to go away and leave me alone. I felt angry and stressed. And – "God, if there is a God, please don't let him touch me."

 

We made it to the mall just in time. The movie was Forrest Gump. 142 minutes.

 

When he went to the bathroom during the film, I went to the bathroom too, and when I came back, he leaned over and said, "When I got back and you weren't here, I thought you had left me." I was sweating and near vomit. I had, in fact, almost left him.

 

After the movie, we were supposed to meet up with his friends at the church to hang out and then attend a youth activity. But we got out of the movie late, and his friends would probably have left us by then. I convinced Mike to shop for my special birthday gift "later" so we would have time to run back to the church and try to catch his friends. I could not be alone with him for 5 more hours before the activity started. We ran up the hill back up to the church. I had literally (meaning literally, not the opposite of literally) never done this much exercise in a day. Major adrenaline.  No one was at the church. No friends. No leaders. No one. I convinced Mike that my house was really close, which it was not, and -- no big deal – I'll just head home and rest for a minute and meet you back at the activity in a few hours. I walked home, sweating in that red flannel. More exercise. The longest walk of my life to date, but nothing would have kept me at that church with that boy in that moment. My feet were hurting. My heart was hurting, and I was so confused. Why did my stomach hurt? Why had I hated this cute boy's advances? Why was I so scared and so stressed?

 

I saw my sister's car in the drive way as I headed toward our house. Why hadn't she answered when I called her from the church for a ride? I ran to the back door. It was locked. I started hitting our glass door harder than I ever had before. I needed to get inside. I needed to feel safe again. Help me! Help me! I had nothing left. I remember my sister running to the door. My cries turned to sobs right away, and I ran to my room. I remember her running after me and asking something like, "Did he kiss you?" She asked with concern in her voice because I was obviously upset, and she was grasping at straws. I screamed, "No! I hate him! Yuck!" I probably slammed my door. I had no explanation for my feelings.

 

I did not leave my room.

 

I did not go to the youth activity that night.

 

Michael Crain moved to Arizona the very next day. I never saw him again.  

 

But the phone started ringing.

 

Turns out Poor sweet Michael had not gone to the activity either because his grandma said he needed to pack. He did not know that I stood him up. He wanted to apologize for standing ME up, and I wanted to scream in HIS face. He called 12 times a day.

 

For several days.

 

Angst in his voice. He needed to talk to me. But I never answered, and my stomach knotted up every single time the phone rang. The calls eventually tapered, but trickled in for an entire month.

 

Young love. All he wanted to do was make sure I wasn't mad. And to say goodbye and pretend like we would hang out next time he came to town. Why couldn't I give him that? It was nothing. But I couldn't do it. So I didn't.

 

I didn't leave my house for days. I was crippled. My mom rented the Sound of Music, and we watched it on her bed. As I watched, I would escape into the movie, but then the phone would ring or something would jog my thoughts. I would remember my situation and curl up in pain.  I didn't eat. I didn't sleep.  I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't know why I was reacting this way.  What was I a victim of? But the pain was so real. So real.

 

I later felt this fear and stress in other times in my life like before my first kiss. Um … or before all of my first kisses actually.  

 

I felt this stress after fights with friends or at jobs interviews or the few times I really felt hurt by my parents as a teen.

 

I still feel it sometimes when someone confronts me and anytime I fail.

 

I have it in check now, though, down to only a few situations. And I don't let it stay. I control the pain by confronting things quickly. I don't let things fester. I speak my mind or I walk away. I control it. I'm really good at this, and I often teach the people around me how to feel better and safer and find more peace.

 

I have never fully understood why I felt that way on my first date. For awhile I thought it might have been my sensitive spirit telling me I was too young and not ready for that situation. That might have been the case. But why did I give so much control to a 12 year old boy – and such a sweet one at that -- even after he left the state. I had known he was moving. There was never a long term threat. I'm cautious of people taking my voice or my control. And I've also always really cared about people and wanted them to feel good. I think maybe my first date was when these two parts of me emerged or many when they conflicted for the first time. Life is complicated like that.

 

I've come so far since Michael Crain. But those feelings are still a part of me.

 

And so, I am 32 now. I made a major decision about my life this week. It is a polarizing decision and most of the people in my life will have an opinion about it.

 

I know people will be upset. And people won't understand. They will talk about me and judge me. Some will try to control me. Some will confront me and manipulate me. I'm so scared, and the stress has already come rolling in. After all my growth and care for myself over the years, I suddenly today feel 13 again. My stomach feels 13 again. My arms and legs are tired, and I feel like I am a little girl walking home from church for the first time and with nothing left. It is so far and I am so tired and I am not sure if anyone is waiting for me at home or if I have a key to the front door. I don't understand my feelings. I can't explain them, but they are real. I feel so alone. Help me! Help me! Open the damn door.

 

But I have been in this moment and survived it. The beauty of 32 is that this is not my first walk home. It might be a long haul. I might run to my room when some people try to help me, and I will most certainly want to barf on a whole lot of people's well-meaning roses. But I know it will not last forever.

 

I am not 13. And this is not a 13 year old decision. It is wise decision, and I can find peace in that. And the people who will try to hurt me – they really are as harmless as a 12 year old boy who loves you, wants to spend his money on you, and is moving to Arizona tomorrow.

--
Jill Fellow
801.735.7416
owneroftheband.blogspot.com