Here it is. The entire month of August for the year 2001. Don't you just feel like a part of my life? Doesn't it make you all warm & fuzzy inside to know that I'm sharing a part of myself with you? I know it does. Read on, starting from the bottom.
August 17th, 2001: Today was Chuck's last day at work. I told him that more than him, I'll miss the cute things that he does while I waste my days away with him, things like grabbing the set of keys that I always swing at him when I don't like something he's said, things like purposely closing the eye that I'm looking at while talking to him up in Space, things like that adorable pants-pinching ritual that he goes through when he wants to hold my hand. He told me that he's okay with me missing those things more than him. He also told me that he wanted me to come over for a "personal good-bye" of sorts after work, so at the end of the day, he came to the front desk to confirm our plans on two separate occasions and then called my cell phone to tell me that he had gotten hung up at the gas station and didn't want me to leave his house without seeing him. I loved how apprehensive he was, as if my coming to see him was a big deal.
I parallel parked (Whoo-hoo!) on Chuck's street and thought about how depressingly decrepit the campus area is as I walked up the hill toward his house. As I passed Chuck's car, I noticed that he has a sticker that reads I BLEED SCARLET AND GRAY, a testimony to his being an Ohio State Buckeyes fan. I should have turned back then. I should have remembered how unright Chuck and I are for each other, how I was just taking a piece of him before he left for Dayton, how I don't really have any interest in him whatsoever and yet keep trying to maintain this weird relationship with him. I rang Chuck's doorbell with the Ring My Bell label above it, and when he answered the door, I felt this mix of excitement and pure dread wash over me. Chuck looked so very . . . Chuck . . . and yet I still wanted to take a bite of him. I was ushered inside with my clothes in hand, and I immediately made a beeline for Chuck's room to change out of my work uniform. Chuck asked me where I was planning to strip, saying that he wanted to avoid that room, as the taking off of the clothes is the fun part. I was unamused. Chuck told me to lighten up and get in the mood, so I closed the door in his face, set my clothes on his bed, and studied the posters on his wall to avoid the impending discomfort.
I changed and emerged to find Chuck still waiting outside of the door. I passed him, glanced in the bathroom mirror, told him that I felt dirty, and went back downstairs. He asked if I was leaving, and I told him that yes, I had, in fact, only been using him for his bedroom. Rather than go back to my car, however, I put my COSI clothes on a chair and commented on the uniqueness of it, still putting off what was to come. We stood facing each other in the doorway between the living room and dining room, neither of us seeming to know what to do, both of us clearly wanting something to happen.
I told Chuck that I wanted to kiss him. He asked why I just didn't kiss him. I told him that I couldn't kiss him. So he leaned in to kiss me.
And I couldn't let him do it.
In fact, I turned my head to the side when he leaned in, laughed at how ridiculous I was being, and asked him about a stolen street sign that's in his dining room. It was so uncomfortable. I thrive on discomfort, but all I could do was to hug him. I tried to use conversation to make things less abnormal and told him that I would miss his pants-pinching, and he confessed that he hadn't even realised that he had done that, which could have been a lie but didn't seem that way at the time. He asked if he should do that then to get us started. We put our arms around each other's waists and stared at each other longingly, but nothing happened. I kept doing this little half-giggle and trying to get myself together, but I really just couldn't imagine my lips against Chuck's. I had so many times before, darn it. I had pictured the two of us embracing, our lips pressed together, unable to breathe. And now, here I was, in the right place at the right time, feeling like the biggest fool for allowing myself to believe that I could do something so meaningful in a relationship so meaningless. But then there I was, suddenly kissing him. I don't know how it happened. I saw him coming for me, and I knew that I was going to laugh at him again, but I didn't. I don't remember if I had my eyes closed or not, though I can only assume that I did, because I can't remember looking at anything. I don't remember where my hands were or where his were, though I imagine that they were still around his waist. I just remember his tiny lips, those incredibly tiny, incredibly wet lips. They weren't needy and greedy like I had expected them to be. They were soft and giving and absolutely what I wanted. They didn't taste like I thought they would, though. I don't know what I was hoping for, but whatever it was, he didn't have it. And that's not to say that what he did have was bad, because it was actually really great, but he wasn't grape-flavoured or anything. Was it illogical for me to expect grape flavouring? Perhaps it was. The most memorable thing about this kiss was the tongue, though. I mean, wow. For a total kissing prude such as myself, for him to just throw his tongue in there like nothing hit me like a bloody semi truck. I've had the tongue . . . but not like that. I pulled away after mere seconds of it and told him that I was overwhelmed with how good he was. I wanted him to be unsure and insecure, but he just dove in there full force right off the bat. However, when I explained this to him, Chuck reminded me that I had been the one to start out open-mouthed. I couldn't believe Katie the Kissing Prude would be the one to initiate the evil and invite in the demon-tongue, but apparently, I was hungry for some Chuck.
I don't remember how many times we kissed in that dimly-lit doorway, but as we took a breath, I realised what an awkward place we had chosen for our moment. It's not like it was anything unexpected. I mean, the sole purpose for my after-work visit was the kiss, and yet there we were, standing in the middle of his house. It's a shame that it had to happen that way. I remember telling Mike that I would be appalled by any man who so much as hinted that he was about to move in for a kiss in a movie theatre, and yet, I also remember staring at Chuck during Moulin Rouge and convincing myself that I wanted him and seeing him staring back, convincing himself that he wanted me, and I wanted it to be like that when we kissed. But there wasn't any time for that yesterday. I asked Chuck when he needed to be heading for home, and when I glanced at his dining room clock and saw that it was already 6:40, I thought about how quickly time would pass between then and 7:30. Less than an hour to experience Chuckles in ways that I had only dreamed about. I asked him if we could move to the couch to at least fake that we were just two friends hanging out after work, so we broke apart and headed that way. I sat down on the middle cushion and watched as Chuck turned the lock on the door. It's funny that I wasn't at all bothered by that at the time. Why would I care if someone came in and caught us kissing? It's also funny that kissing was still the only thing I planned to do at that point.
But I don't really want to go telling the world exactly what happened next and for the next hour and a half, especially since I'm never going to allow Chuck to read this. Let's just say that we didn't sleep together, as we knew that we wouldn't. Before I left, we stood in the doorway once again, and I gave him the tiniest kiss, and then he told me to just stand there and close my eyes. I was worried that I was about to get myself raped, but I complied and waited a moment as Chuck leaned in for his grand finale, his kiss of all kisses.
And what a kiss it was. But I felt absolutely nothing. Which was the best part of it. I just gathered my things, thanked Chuck for a lovely time, and walked out the door, whereupon I stopped, asked if I would be seeing him again before he left for school, walked back toward my car, wondered if all of the men on their porches knew what had just occurred, and drove toward Mike's house.
I'm not sure how I feel or how I want to feel or how I should feel. It was totally meaningless. I love Chuck as I would my brother and all, but I obviously don't want to pursue any kind of relationship with him. I loved how when kissing him, I would realise at times that I was doing absolutely no work and not getting into it at all, letting my mind wander while he did all of the dirty stuff. I think that I should feel guilty and regret so much as kissing him, but I don't at all. In fact, I feel quite the opposite. I wish I had done more while I had the chance. I mean, there he was, totally without inhibitions, and I had to allow my conscience to take over. Such a shame. I think it was mostly the environment that killed it for me. It's not like we were watching a movie or something at midnight and he just happened to lean over and plant one on me. It's not like I was changing in his room and he burst in and threw me on the bed. This was something that was very planned and something that happened on an undoubtedly beer-soaked living room couch in broad daylight with the chattering of the people at the outdoor café next door interrupting the non-mood every few moments. It was like sex on a prom night or a wedding night - something that happens because both parties feel as if it must. I find it odd how okay I am with what I've done. I'm a total prude, and you know that. And yet, I just allowed myself to be used by a 22 year-old man who's on his way to Seminary. I was his last fling before Seminary, he said! What's worse than this is that I used him, too. I didn't care at all that I won't be seeing Chuck for perhaps four months. I didn't care that we have absolutely no romantic feelings for one another. I didn't care that he doesn't like my hair and clothes and that he doesn't appreciate my taste in music. In fact, I still don't care! The only thing I'm battling right now is the fact that I think I should care. But I liked it too much to care. Chuck was really the perfect person to do all of those things with for the first time, because there was no pressure. If he didn't like the way I did something, it really didn't matter, as we'll never do that again. I mean, I definitely wouldn't take back anything that happened Friday evening. Does that make me a horrible person? I'm not so sure.
Also August 13th, 2001: Tonight, we discussed T.S. Eliot in the British Literature class that I'm taking this summer. Now, I'm a big fan of Eliot's work, but I knew next-to-nothing about his life, so when my teacher told us that he was terribly sexually repressed, even at age 23, it got me thinking. And in thinking, I decided that I was ready for a sexual liberation. So, I asked Chuck if he would sleep with me before he left for grad school, but he made up an excuse about respecting me too much to allow me to make that mistake. I told him that he would be helping me free up some creative energy, but he didn't believe that he's promiscuous enough to take me up on the offer. He said that "the deflowering of Katie" sounds like an erotic play, but he was unwilling to be one of my actors, so I told him that I would just have to find someone else to begin my life of passion with. I mentioned that I want to sample everyone, him included, before I settle down, and he said that he wishes that he would have known that side of me when we went on our date. And then he became all about pushing me to "the edge of ecstasy", so he told me to come on over to his house, an offer which I turned down with some hesitation, leaving him hot, bothered, and hanging, he said. He tried to coax me there with the line, "You're only 45 minutes away from more touching than you could ever imagine," but even that wasn't enough to motivate me to get dressed and drive the hour that it takes to get to Chuck's house.
The next day at work, I was expressing my concern about the fact that I didn't yet know what the next exhibit to move into our museum will be after the dinosaur travels somewhere else, and Chuck told me that he's already aware of what's to come. However, no matter how much I begged and pleaded with him, Chuck wouldn't divulge his secret, so I asked only half jokingly if I could come over that night and make him give it up to me. I waited long enough for him to say "we'll see" and then walked off to get back to the little work that I actually do. At the end of the day, I wanted Chuck to come over to the desk and invite me to see him, but instead, he just gave me a little wave on his way out. Thinking that I had done my part, I went on home and went about my business until 10:15 PM, when I got online to make Chuck regret the fact that he hadn't followed up on my initial indicating that I wanted to be asked to his house. He explained that as the body-offerer, I should have known just to show up, but I told him that I wasn't about to make myself that vulnerable, which sent us spiraling into a conversation about who was to blame, who should correct the situation, and how we could have so much fun in our pajamas. Actually, there was much more conversation about how much more fun could be had without the pajamas, but that's better left unsaid. My favourite part of the conversation was my saying, "Face it, sweetheart. You're not getting me over there tonight," and his replying, "Damn, girl . . . I tried." It was so un-Chuck-y and so white trash-y, and it only made me want to be with him more . . . with him as in at his house, not with him with him. He told me to come over after work on Thursday and we could go to it before and after his fantasy football draft, which was scheduled for 9:20. I was amused that he would take time away from me for not just football but fake football, but he assured me that he was only doing it so that we wouldn't go too far too fast. I asked him exactly how far he thought we would go, which he responded with, "I think in the heat of passion very poor decisions could be made . . . but I would not force anything," as if he was counting on our lack of self-control. He ended the conversation by saying, "Just imagine my lips and yours brushing together and the sparks that could follow." That seems like the most idiotic, cheap line to use now that I look back on it, but at the time, it totally made me want to try him out.
So I called him Thursday at around 6 PM. My sister made fun of me for wanting to go to see someone with the sole intention of kissing him, but I called nonetheless. And Chuck told me that I could come if I wanted to, as if he wasn't that interested in seeing me. I told him that I would only spend an hour on the road for someone who was very intent on spending time with me, and he told me that the choice was mine to make. I was slightly confused by his sudden lack of interest, as the night before, he had been the one surprised when I told him that I didn't want to sleep with him. So, after a 15-minute conversation full of lots of awkward silences and Umm . . . 's, I yanked from Chuck that he was worried about what may happen. I was rather annoyed that he thought me to have so little power over my desires, but he reminded me of the things that can occur spontaneously, so I told him that I would see him Friday at work and hung up to call Mike. Ten minutes later, I was on my way to meet him at Jonathan's house so that we could watch Snatch.
We sat around upstairs and played with Jon's new digital camera for a while and then decided to get Chinese food, which sent us out for a drive in my car. We then realised that we were going to end up waiting for our food at the restaurant, so after turning around, Jon spent ten minutes on the phone with a little foreign woman ordering egg drop soup, and then we were off once again. While we were waiting to pay for our order, Jonathan began clipping the key-holder of his keyring to one of his nipples, challenging Mike and me to do the same, which we declined. Jonathan mentioned that my doing that would just be wrong, and if I did happen to do it, he would be forced to sanitise the clip, which offended me. Back in the car, Mike mocked the collection of Modest Mouse CDs that I'm hording inside, and then we all settled in on Jon's couch for some good, old-fashioned, Chinese food-grubbin'. During the movie, Mike tried the nipple-clipping, and I had to do the same, sparking some picture-taking and a conversation about how little I treasure my chest. I argued that I wouldn't mind random strangers just running up and grabbing at me, so Jonathan offered Mike $2 to fondle me, which I also found offensive. Mike rewarded me for my pain and suffering with a back massage.
We headed back upstairs upon the movie's conclusion and Jon's parents' deciding that it was time for them to watch some sort of Italian movie. Mike and I attempted to share a chair the size of a teaspoon, while Jonathan threw things down my shirt that was perhaps a little too low-cut for a family environment. In fact, I was called a slut a few too many times for my own liking that night because of my poor shirt. It didn't require a bra, though; how can one pass up a shirt that doesn't require a bra!? That's right; one can't. The night was good, though. Mike was super clingy and affectionate. You know, that's all I ask for. I think that a person is perfectly capable of being touchy without having to have any romantic feelings for the person receiving the touching, allowing for the maintaining of a perfectly platonic relationship. For a long while, it seemed that I was the only person who felt this way. I'm all about hugging and kissing random strangers upon first meeting, but some people just can't handle it. Mike, for one, still can't handle it after seven years of friendship. Maybe I'm just looking to receive some side benefits with my friendships without having those benefits rope me into some kind of contract. Am I making any sense? Well, in any case, I liked the fact that Mike was at least trying to be a real human being for me or that he's so lonely for his college friends that he actually found himself with the ability to use me while he's waiting to go back them. Does it bother me that he's fine with being affectionate with them and not me? Never. In any case, it was the best night that I've spent with Mike and Jonathan this summer, and it makes me long for Mike's return from college already, even though he's not actually leaving for Chicago until the 25th. Am I odd? Perhaps.
August 13th, 2001: Yesterday, Mike's family celebrated his mom's birthday. I called him at around 5:00 to see if he was available for church, and he informed me that while he wouldn't be at The Vineyard, he would be happy to do something afterward. When I was through accusing him of just trying to get out of going to church and he was through hating me for it, I agreed to call him when the service was over. This put me in a tough spot, because Scott's not coming due to his acquisition of a new woman left me alone on one of The Vineyard's camel-brown pseudo-leather couches, waiting for Jonathan and susceptible to the dangers of a group of West Virginia Vineyarders who questioned me about my college life and my home life and my spiritual life and complimented my hair until . . . GASP! They found out that I'm already a Christian and didn't need them to convince me to be one, darn it. They scattered, and I watched whom I thought to be the woman Jonathan wants to marry, Crystal, walk in with a rather sluttily-dressed sidekick and wander into the sanctuary. Jonathan showed up a moment later with his friend David, and when I told him that I had seen Crystal with a whore mere seconds before the whore came back out to the lobby, it made for some good exchanging of glances. The whore, who happens to be named Debra, spotted one of her male friends just as she approached Jon, David, and me, so the three of us talked amongst ourselves while she flirted with him. I cried at the service, which I haven't done for many months and hoped that I was learning to control. It wasn't so much the crying in public that bothered me but the fact that I was crying in front of two people whom I don't know at all and David, whom I've only met a few times. They didn't seem uncomfortable with it, though, so I just wiped my nose on my hand and dealt.
After the service, we followed Crystal in her new Cavalier to Graeter's. Now, if you don't know me well, you probably don't know my qualms with the Cavalier. Next to the Beretta, I believe it to be the car that most announces to the world that one is white trash and proud of it. However, Crystal's car is extra white trash in that it has a sticker that encompasses the back of the thing that reads BRING THE HEAT. Yes, that's right. A sticker with flames shooting from the words BRING THE HEAT. A moment of silence, please . . . Okay. So, after we ordered and Jonathan explained the inner workings of his new digital camera to a random ice cream-eating passer-by, we went to this strange little 5 x 5 foot park area with a little fountain and a little replica of the Liberty Bell encased in glass off to one side. Everyone else seemed to think that it was very appropriate to have something such as that sitting on the side of a Westerville, Ohio street, so I just tried to accept it and enjoy my ice cream. Jonathan took nudie pictures of Crystal and Debra, while David and I kind of laughed at their high school-ish-ness. Jonathan is usually very good at pretending like he's not a child, but somehow, the other girls just really made him act his age. I was glad that David wasn't acting like an 18 year-old high schooler, as well, or I would have felt even more out of place than I already did. Before we left, I took off my shoes and let my feet take a little dive in the fountain, which Crystal and Debra soon mimicked, allowing David to call them wannabes and making me sort of glad to see them go when we parted ways.
We headed back to Jonathan's house and met Mike there, whereupon we did very manly computer things for some time before I headed back downstairs to sit with Jonathan's parents and watch the Edmonton Summer Olympic-type festivities. They questioned me about The Vineyard for a bit, trying to pry from me whether or not it's a cult, I'm quite sure, until Mike came down and began beating up on their cat. Pizza was devoured and David was taken home while Mike and I watched an Entertainment Channel special on child stars-turned-bums. At this point, I got very, very comfortable on Jonathan's couch. This is not just any couch, mind you. This is the most beautiful leather couch in the world. And this is also the point of the story. When Jonathan arrived home from David's, I was in a state of sleepy ecstasy, rollicking about on his slick, brown cowhide between small doses of rest on a tiny stitched pillow. He laid down and pawed at me with his feet, but I was too tired to play, so while Mike escaped to bed upstairs, Jonathan gave me the gift of blanket, and I took a short night's rest on the couch.
Oh, that couch. I long for it still. I'll long for it always.
August 9th, 2001: It's odd. Or rather, I'm odd. I'm odd in that I can so easily forget the things that have hurt me or made me insanely mad or made me wish I could hate. I just can't hate. Even after all of the name-calling and the personal attacks and the clothes-hating that went on between Chuck and me after our fateful date, I still couldn't keep myself from liking him. I like the things that he says and the things that he does and the way that he makes me feel . . . when he's not bashing my hair, that is. So, just a few short days after I wrote all of my Reasons to Despise Chuck propaganda, I found myself at his side at work once again, flirting like we always did, discussing life like we always did. Little digressions about our moment of hostility after our passionless night would work their way in at times, but mostly, everything was back to normal. So back to normal, in fact, that I actually found myself wanting to go out with him again. Not go out out, mind you, but I was really ready to totally become better friends than we had been before our mistake. I hinted at this for a while and then finally just burst out with a bit of a melodramatic scene about how he never takes me out anymore in front of some other COSI people to get my point across. Still, nothing.
Today, my sister and I took some week-long golf tournament tickets that my dad bought and set out on a trip to the New Albany Country Club a bit North of us to view some professionals at work. However, when my dad's directions failed us and we ended up on a two-hour trip to nowhere, we came back home to sit and do nothing. (A good bit of sisterly bonding was had by all, mind you. Not a wasted trip in the least.) So, I was sitting at my computer at 6:46 PM, minding my own business as I never do, when Chuckles finally broke out and messaged me on IM. He mentioned very slyly that he was planning on seeing a movie that night, so I congratulated him on his outstanding decision-making skills. He then told me that he was alone and couldn't very well go to the movie theatre that way, so he was sadly going to have to rent something and watch it at home, all by his lonesome. I told him to stop being so ridiculous and just out and ask me, so he did, using the line "if you canb;t tell me about your crazy hong," which meant absolutely nothing to me but strangely got me to agree to go, so I found myself driving to Columbus to meet him and some of his friends at 8. I knew that he wouldn't be bringing anyone along, but I played along like I believed that he was. I arrived a little too early and spent the next five minutes admiring the BMW parked next to me and learning that the AM/FM button on my car stereo also doubles as a Stop button. Oh, the wonder. As I exited my car and headed for the theatre, I was greeted by OSU's mascot, who was running around the parking lot, for some strange reason. Chuck walked in a few seconds after I did, totally by himself, as I knew that he would be.
We chose seats in the very top row. Actually, I chose seats in the very top row, probably subconsciously hoping that I would get the kiss that I had been longing to experience for months. At the same time, however, I was really worried that Chuck thought that we were going to try dating again after he had sent me an IM after I left that read, "Thank God for second chances." I knew that he wasn't interested in dating me, though, so I convinced myself that he was glad for a second chance to be friends. Chuck mentioned the fact that I was on the wrong side of him for cuddling, which I couldn't so much as be even remotely amused by. He told me to lighten up and realise that Rush Hour 2 isn't exactly the most romantic of movies, so I did. And it was very enjoyable. Every time that Chuck was too hysterical in his laughing, however, I thought about how I really need a man who's a little snobby, as I am. I don't want to be with anyone who would ever want to see Rush Hour 2 except to make fun of it or because Jackie Chan is just cool. But Chuck was there because he expected it to be a good movie, I think, and I just really can't handle that. It's nice to just relax with someone sometimes, though, and I can totally be myself around Chuck. So it was a great movie for me.
Chuck walked me to my new car and agreed that it's a little more "me" than the Blazer was, and then, just as I was about to turn and do some sort of goodnight ritual, the owners of the BMW (who also happened to be the people who sat next to me during the movie) approached their car. I commented on how much I adored it, and they thanked me as they all piled in. They seemed in no hurry to leave, though, so instead of being able to give Chuck a long, innuendous good-bye, I just gave him a quick hug and a thanks as they watched. He thanked me for making inviting me easy on him, and then I drove home, very conscious of the fact that Chuck is only going to be around for two more weeks before leaving for grad school, and I'm just now developing a real friendship with him. A bit saddening.