Everybody wants to date a cute Asian girl, right?
Well how about an Asian girl who’s kind of scary and perpetually angry? That was my second girlfriend.
She was pretty much just like Rory’s friend from Gilmore Girls. Lane. Asian, indie, played the drums (and bass, and some guitar). So that’s what we’ll call her.
Lane was stronger than me, about my height, and generally quite menacing. While these traits did not specifically appeal to me, I was still going off the same criteria from before. She kind of seemed like she might be into me.
So of course, I threw caution to the wind and just went for it. Eventually. At this point I’m sure it won’t surprise you to hear that it took me quite a while to actually go for it, but the important part is that I did, at some point get around to it.
And you know what? This relationship wasn’t awful. It wasn’t great either, but it had its moments. Sure, it was awkward and weird and slow, but I had been friends with this girl for a while so at least it wasn’t boring. Not always boring, that is.
I was friendly. I did a great job of that, but I wasn’t boyfriendly. I think we held hands a couple of times. We hugged a lot, but I mean, it was really just awkward. It became our thing, kind of. Like, when one of us left, we would hug and it was always weird. Eventually, I tried to phase it out, but our friends had taken notice at that point and would say some shit like ‘aren’t you going to hug her?’ And if they were awkward before, these hugs were some wretched shit after that.
Our relationship was stagnating and I knew it. Something had to be done. The problem was that I was the one who had to do it. I wasn’t good at this shit. I had come no closer to being the Sam women desired.
In our brief tenure, I had two misadventures. I learned a thing or two about French kissing, and I went for the gold. Not gold, but gold, you know? We’re going to focus on the latter of these two, as the former is going to need a lot more space.
We were sitting in a stairwell at the mall near our school talking about something. I honestly have no clue what it was. I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. I was dutifully committed to the task at hand. I was 15 and I had never had a chance like this before. Or, rather, I had never had the gall to take it.
I was going to cop a feel.
Tits are scary, though. I mean, women are scary in general, but tits? Tits are fucking spooky. It’s right there. Right there! Right in front of you. All you have to do is reach out and just, you know, fucking grasp it, man! It’s almost too easy. Like, what happens if you do it? Is it a trap? I was always told if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. This sounded way too good to be true.
So, there I was. On the precipice. The only thing between me and my prize was fear.
‘Huh? Uh? Hmm. Yeah.’ She said something and her tone demanded a response. Apparently, mine was good enough, as she kept on talking like we were cool. Like there wasn’t tension in the air thick enough to choke on. Like she didn’t know what I was thinking (she probably did). Like she wasn’t hanging those things, right there in front of me. How dare she have breasts in my vicinity! It was too much to think about!
‘So, what do you think that line even meant?’ Man, come on. I don’t fucking know. Don’t do this shit to me! Don’t do this shit to yourself. Come on.
‘Uh, sorry. Which one?’ I tried my best to sound truly apologetic. She did have feelings and all, I didn’t want to make her think she was boring. She wasn’t boring, but my mind was dedicated to thinking about her chest and my body was dedicated to not silently staring at her chest.
‘From the song,’ She explained. The conversation trickled back into my head slowly. We were talking about the Rocky Horror Picture Show (a musical she was quite enamored with at the time). Nothing to get those carnal juices flowing like a musical about a flamboyant transvestite and how he bones two married people. ‘When she says; ‘I never thought of getting into heavy petting.’ What does heavy petting even mean?’
Oh shit. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. The stars were lining up. The universe was throwing me a bone. It was now or never boys! You want to know what heavy petting is well class is in fucking session!
‘I think it’s something like this.’ I leaned over, the passion of a man looking to touch a booby gushing through my veins.
Now it was all about execution. Not that I had any clue how this was supposed to go. My hand launched, rushing at full throttle fueled by pubescent excitement.
Here we go!
Landing successful! My hand was on the tit!… What now? I hadn’t even considered I would be brave enough to actually go for it. Now that I was there, I was lost. Abandoned by the furor of passion that had imbued my brain, I panicked. Everything shut down. My fingers curled around the breast as my hand pulled back, leaving my palm barren and sad.
This all happened in about 3 seconds.
Then it was just us again. Sitting in the stairwell. If you could choke on the tension before, I’m not sure you could breathe at all in the new climate. Words couldn’t fight their way through the almost solidified air. We just sat in silence. Then we left.
About a week later she called it quits on that one. God knows why.
But that’s not all. This story, it really ties it all together. Two years later, we finally talked about this. I had told some friends the story over time, but never had I actually discussed these events with her. I kind of hoped she had forgotten.
So, two years later, yeah? After school some of us go down to a field behind a hospital nearby. It was a good place to hang out without anyone else around. As long as you didn’t think about just how many kids had fucked there. One of the kids who had fucked there was with us that day, actually.
It was me, some of our other friends, and of course, Lane. We’re just chatting as friends do, talking friendly shit, you know? The works. Then we get into the deeper stuff. Talking about life, love, death, dicks, all that jazz. And one of them asks Lane;
‘So, would you ever think about dating Sam again?’ Woman, are you considering my feelings at all? What if she says no? Right here. Right in front of my face. Don’t pull this shit.
But, against my expectations, Lane, she says ‘Yeah, I guess.’
Cool. Cool. Cool. Good to know. Going to keep that little tid-bit up in the ol’ dome piece, if you catch my drift. All was good. Then this bitch kept talking.
Now, I should probably mention that after telling this story to a few people, it became common to mimic the hand motion. You hold up your hand with the fingers bent ever slightly forward, and then you pull it back and clamp your fingers down in a little triangle with your thumb. If you’ve ever seen one of those wire head massagers, it’s like that. That way, if I ever implied I knew anything about women at all, they could do that and put me in my place. Dickheads.
‘Even after… You know?’ And she does the hand motion. She does the fucking hand motion! This girl, this forest fucker, this woman who fucks in forests, this chick who, who, who, who fucks! She has the audacity to do the hand motion! To Lane, no less! No!
‘I guess…’ Obviously God was reaching his hand down from on high to help me out. Even after that? She would still get back together with me with that stain in her memory? Really?
We did talk about it a little more, seeing as we had never discussed the event before. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t anything even slightly resembling fun. One might even describe it as not fun, but it got it out of the way. And with that, I was safe to ask her out again.
I walked her back to her bus stop making awkward conversation. The years hadn’t done much to improve my flirting abilities.
When we arrived, I was struck with a conundrum. Was it weird to wait for her bus with her? Was it weird not to? It was probably weirder to wait, right? After all, we weren’t dating or anything. Oh, shit, wasn’t I supposed to ask her about that? Though, wait, it wouldn’t be weird for a friend to wait for a friend’s bus with them, would it? Not that that’s what I wanted, anyways, but it was worth thinking about. Was it?
‘Okay, I’m going to head off.’ I decided it would be weird to wait with her.
‘Alright. Where you headed?’
Hey, you want to try dating again even though it was fucking awful last time? Hey, interested in getting back together? Any chance you want to do what you said you would be interested in doing like an hour ago? Any chance at all?
Any variation of the question would work. The one I chose was ‘I’m probably going to go get Subway.’ Strangely, I don’t think I got the message across.
I started walking home, thinking the entire time about how stupid I was for walking home. Go back! Go back, Sam! Where are you going? Go back!
And for once, for whatever stupid reason, I actually listened to my brain. I turned around, briskly walking back to the bus stop. It wasn’t really that big of a deal if she was already gone. I would see her again. Though, I’d probably have lost the nerve to ask her out by then.
Lucky me, she was still there when I got back.
‘Uh, hey, want to get back together?’ The words weren’t very strong, and my voice was weaker. Not a movie theater moment for sure.
‘Oh, uh, yeah okay.’
This is why you should never listen to what your brain tells you to do. On take two of our relationship, we went on anywhere from two to three dates. These were in the first three weeks of our three months together.
Every week after that, for eight fucking weeks I would ask if she wanted to go out, and she would say she was busy. Homework, practicing for band, any number of excuses. Sometimes it was ‘homework but I’m actually going to make plans with my friend after you’ve already asked me out and hang out with her instead.’
And that possible third date mentioned before was… interesting. I don’t know if it counts as a date. It was a school talent show and she spent the entire thing leaning over me to whisper to her friend on the other side.
Honestly, the saddest part of this story is that I went along with it for so long.
I’m pissed about the ending too, to be honest. I had been voicing my displeasure for weeks and she kept saying that she understood and blah blah blah, but nothing changed. So finally, I go to break up with her. She looks down, sighs and says ‘Yeah, I figured this was going to happen,’ all mellow and sad. Like this was unavoidable. Like I’ve done something terribly cruel. Somehow, I’m the bad guy.
Man, fuck that.