He Carried a Briefcase

I wasn't having much luck finding love in the halls of Fishcreek Elementary School, so I started broadening my horizon and looking for love in a place probable hardly anyone finds love- the Baptist Church Youth Group. I scanned the room for likely suspects and saw one boy that my Mom liked who shook our hands and said "May the Lord's blessings be upon you." when we walked into the church, and I was a rock and roll Baptist and he was far too holy and formal for me.

Then I saw a boy who was super cute and very dreamy, but my Catholic BFF Michelle was crashing Baptist Youth group with me to stalk him to the dismay of everyone. Her parents were furious, his parents didn't want him cavorting with a Catholic and I didn't want to get in the middle of that drama, so I kept looking.

There was a third option, a little on the questionable side, but after weighing my options decided this was the best path to pursue. He was very cute, but very weird. He wore a 3 piece suit and carried a briefcase at 13. This was not a popular clothing choice.

He was in some after-school Jr. Achievement Group that taught him to "dress for success" and he didn't realize that while a 3-piece suit may spell success in corporate America, it did NOT spell success at Kimpton Jr. High. It spelled "get stuffed into your locker and humiliated daily."

But- I was weird, too, so I wasn't put off by his eccentricity. I sat by him one night in church and kept inching my hand closer and closer to his until he got the hint and took it. We held hands. I felt electricity bolt through my body like lightning in my veins. A boy touched me. A real boy. Not a pillow boy. Not pretend Keith Partridge daydreams. Not imaginary Batman or Robin. (Yes, I fantasized about them, don't judge.)

That was it, We were an item. We held hands at church for weeks. We would get to youth group, join hands and didn't let go until our parents came back to pick us up.

But a few weeks into this hot romance, I noticed that his suit was smelling kind of sweaty and that I found that very unpleasant. I also noted that when I wanted to go talk to my friends, he kept being there and was clingy in a way I did not prefer. But I kept holding his hand for fear of ending up with the super holy boy my mom liked.

I was in a bind and had no idea how to escape. I didn't want to be his girlfriend anymore, but I couldn't be mean and hurt his feelings either. I had (and still have) ZERO killer instinct.

My escape came in a somewhat tragic way - his older brother had a mental breakdown, did some terrible things, and the family left town in shame. I never saw him again.

Lesson I learned? Don't stay with the wrong boy just because you're afraid of being alone or think the next boy might be worse. He might be, but you never know until you try.