*editors note: I’m sick + I want to ski today because I got a new jacket and want to show it off + I have “real work” to do = repost from a letter back in November. Enjoy. Again.
I should state from the very start that I’m extremely grateful for what went down between the two of us for those amazing and gut-wrenching three minutes between us in the camp dancehall circa 1995. If you hadn’t absolutely crushed me as a young teenager, we probably wouldn’t have the friendship we have today; which, as you must know, means a great deal to me. However, that being said, I hated you with 100% of my soul for about two days.
It took an assload of courage for me to come up to you at that dance. I was (my use of the past tense here is questionable) awkward, gangly, freckled, metallic (in the mouth region), but I will give myself some credit because I was the best tennis player at camp, as if I thought you might be impressed. You, on the other hand, were/still are tall, hot, blonde, smart, sweet, southern belle who was the creme de la creme of the female camper population. I’m pretty sure all of the younger male counselors wanted to ask you to dance that night as well, but apparently their jobs were too important. Questionable decision on their part…crap food, crap pay, crap cabin…I think I would have sacrificed that for a dance with you.
There in lies the problem though, I didn’t need to sacrifice anything, for a dance anyway. I sauntered up to you, actually that is complete bullsh*t; I walked timidly up to you, looked up into your eyes since you were already taller than me, and asked you out, and you surprisingly said, “yes.”. It should be entirely clear to you now, I ASKED YOU OUT. As in – Do you want to go out with me? Or, do you want to go steady with me? Or, as the old timers might say, may I court you so we can go necking in the woods later? Unfortunately, you heard none of these.
What you heard, perhaps over some awesome mid 90s song like “Return of the Mack” or “Runaround,” was, “Will you dance with me?” Well of course you said yes, we were relatively good friends and a dance was absolutely harmless. We were like 13 or 14, it wasn’t as if I was going to try and make out with you like I did with this broad. And so, we danced for a couple of minutes. Me thinking that this was the beginning of what I was sure would result in my first boob grab sometime down the road; you thinking three minutes of dancing wasn’t going to kill you.
Well, at some point it must have clicked, and you realized what I actually asked. You broke our contact, and while very sweet about it, proceeded to stomp all over my heart. I can’t quote you on what you actually said, because I was too busy trying not to cry, but I think it was along the lines of a bumbled, “I’m really sorry…I thought you just wanted to dance…I don’t want to go out with anyone this summer.” Thanks for putting me down easy. Of course, when you went out with JR (not the dude from Dallas) later that week, it stung a bit.
Was it the braces? Freckles? Did I have bad breath? Oh, I know, you just couldn’t stand going out with someone who was better at tennis than you. Seriously, it’s not a big deal, we would have never worked in the long run. Something tells me a long distance thing back in the mid 90′s between to teens would have ended badly. I still love you…as a best friend. Ok I gotta stop this letter now, I think that last line marked my first supremely cheesy line.
I’ll dance with you anytime,