It's the Fourth of July and I am soaking wet. No, this is not going to be a dirty blog (at least this one isn't, I swear). My father and I have spent most of the day kneeling out in the dirt that we pass off as a front yard, trying to install a new sprinkler system. My dad and stepmom have now gone off to a veteran's day celebration an hour and a half away and my-ex-but-not-quite is coming over with his best friend, Brandon.
Now, just to start this off, I have known this guy since I was a sophmore in high school. When, in a fit of drama that would have given 90210 a run for their money, I broke down crying on a picnic table behind the cafeteria because the guy that I thought I would give my virginity to broke up with me, he came to find me. We dated when I was a Junior (mostly, I'll admit, to make the afforementioned-ex jealous) well into my Senior year. He was the first guy to get to third base with me, and I was the first girl that he had gotten to any bases with, and we talked about marriage....a laughabale thought now. Halfway through my Senior year, under the excuse that I was stressed and overworked between my Physics and Trig classes, studying for ACTs, my after-school job, and applying to colleges, we broke up, and I started dating another guy not even a month later. In my freshman year of college, during the weeks right before Christmas vacation, we started talking again via Facebook- ah dating in the age when your next potential girlfriend is just a mouseclick away; it makes me think of how those mail order brides must feel. Things escalated and, in the matter that most girls do, I began to overlook all of the flaws that had lead us to break up (he was an alcoholic. He smoked pot and often showed up to my high school reeking of marijuana. He'd been in trouble with the law. He was dealing pot and pills. He was a wanna-be badass, the type that grated on my nerves and thought that I was overemotional) and started dwelling on the good (he'd never, in two years, tried to do anything that I was uncomfortable with. He'd already met my father and my dad hadn't threatened to shoot him. He knew all of my little quirks and habits. We liked the same bands. And, strangest of all, he still liked me despite how I dumped him.) We started texting back and forth and decided see each other again and hang out.
Now, if you've read my previous posts, you know that my parents didn't let me "date", so "hanging out" equated to "hey, it's a Friday night, you don't have work tomorrow and I don't have to be up for classes, so why don't you come over?" It was cold and rainy when I met him in the yard outside of my house. He was a vision in a black leather motorcycle jacket. We tangoed through the throngs of cats choking the house, and finally got upstairs to my room. There was little talking, other than "oh, I really missed you" (me) and "wow, you're even more beautiful than I thought". After a bit, clothes started to come off....mostly mine, and mostly with him sitting there with the slack-jawed glazed-eyed expression of a guy who hasn't gotten any (either ever or in a really long time) who can't believe his luck.
So, flash forward an hour: he's fulfilled, I'm fulfilled (or at least doing a very damn good impression of it) , we're spooning on my bed and I'm quickly blacking out. Everything seems great until....."Oh, shit!" I flash back to twenty minutes ago, when my stepmom called me downstairs to take care of something and I felt something slippery on my leg. Reaching up, I pulled the condom out of my (as Brandon later called them) "no-no parts" and then, once I'd gotten back upstairs and about been attacked by Zach as soon as I got the door closed, forgotten all about the condom that I'd thrown in the kitchen garbage can. But, with his arms around me- yes, I know that sounds like some stupid pre-feminism romance novel, but you know what? bite me- I forgot about it....until about four days later when, after missing a period, I called him freaking out. Now, if you've never had this conversation with a boyfriend or girlfriend, let me tell you how it goes.
Me: (cold, scared, and trying to not cry) Baby....
Him: (excited and a little bit surprised) Hey, Babygirl! What's up? I"m sorry, I'm kinda in the car with my dad right now.....we're at a site but it's raining so I'm trying to eat something.
Me: Oh, tell your dad hey for me....
Him: (mumbling to his dad who yells "Hey, Layne! Hope to see you around the house sometime soon!") So, what's wrong, babygirl?
Me: Well....do you remember the other night when we.....(blushing- I'm notoriously dirty mouthed and raunchy over text and in person when I'm, shall we say, "in the mood", but over the phone is SUCH a different story) you know.....
Him: (grinning so hard that I can almost hear it over the phone) Ohhh, yeah. It was great, wasn't it babygirl?
Me: Yeah....well, about that....um....I think that I might, possibly, maybe be pregnant.
Him: WHAT?!?!?!
Me: Well....the condom....kinda slipped off.
Him: Oh....shit....well....um....listen, can we talk about this later? You know, maybe I could come over later and we could talk about it? Or you could take the pill?
Me: Uh, it's been four days. It doesn't work after three.
Him: Oh, well, I gotta go but we'll talk about this later. Ok?
So, three days later he texts me saying he's on his way to my house. We're at the house, laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, talking in that faux-serious way that teenagers do when they think that they're pregnant and are trying to be so mature about the situation, when his friend Mike calls him. Now, my relationship with all of Zach's friend's has always been a bit....shall we say, odd? When I get on the phone with Zach and he's with his friends, he won't act like any normal guy and just say he'll call me back later. Oh, no, he passes the phone around to all of his friends and gives them the chance to talk to them. This is how I met Mike, who we often refer to by his surname. He fell in love automatically with my accent which, as he said, made him just turned on just by listening to me. We talked when Zach and I were on the phone, but no other time, and in the two years that I had dated Zach, I'd never met Mike.
Half an hour later, Zach and Mike roared up in his car and I meant the scariest looking guy that I think I have ever meant. At 5'3 and 140 lbs, I'm not easily intimidated, though I probably should be. But Mike, at 6'5 and well over 200 lbs (I'm sure) was intimidating, especially in a leather jacket and black aviator sunglasses.
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