Jeanette

Going into grade 6 I was a bit of a nerd. I had low self esteem & was a hopeless romantic, with my nose always buried in a Judy Bloom or Sweet Valley High novel.

I knew nothing about what was cool, I didn't listen to the right music, didn't watch the cool movies, I was a total klutz and admittedly, I dressed kinda funny.

I don't remember really having any friends when grade 6 started. Sure I played with the kids on my street, occasionally went over to a classmates house for dinner or to go swimming, but I didn't have a best girl friend. The kind you spent all your time with, told your secrets too, and laughed about the silliest things.

The elementary school I went to went right up to grade eight, and the other school in the neighbourhood only went up to grade five. That meant that in grade six there were a whole new batch of kids in the class. It was like starting fresh, the cliques had not yet been formed, everyone was new.

I managed to make some new friends right off the bat. Shannon and Heather, Leslie and Lisa were a few that I can remember. We hung out at school and got along ok, but I still did not have that Best Friend I really wanted to have.

Then I met Jeanette.

Jeanette had moved into the neighbourhood the summer before, so not only was she new to the school, she was new to everybody.

She was a cute girl, no more than 5'3" and blonde hair cut in a funky eighties style. She wore glasses, but they were cool, the way she carried herself you hardly even knew they were there. She had a laugh that was infectious, it was loud and so happy sounding, you couldn't help but to notice she was in the room.

Jeanette and I ended up sitting next to each other in home room. At first I was a bit intimidated by her, she had a toughness to her, and I was afraid she might be like some of the girls in the school, the ones who thought they were so tough, and picked on anyone they thought were below them. But that wasn't Jeanette. She seemed to like everyone, and everyone liked her. No one dared to pick on her, and when I was around her no one picked on me.

Soon we were spending all of our time together. Hanging out at recess, walking home together after school, watching movies at my house on Friday nights, and sleep overs at her house on Saturday. For the first time in my life, I had a Best Friend.

Jeanette knew all the cool music, and knew what the best movies were to watch. She helped me to develop a style that wasn't so nerdy, she made me feel important and helped to boost my self esteem.

With Jeanette I was invited to some of the cool kid parties, she helped give me the confidence to talk to some of the popular boys. I became better at sports too, finally having the nerve to do gymnastics, and learning how to ski.

With Jeanette I felt like I could do anything. Including getting away with stuff I had never tried before.

I smoked my first cigarette with Jeanette, at the bus stop around the corner from my house. We would steal alcohol from our parents cabinets, and fill Bug Gulp cups drinking it outside the Supercentre. I shoplifted for the first time with her, we even used to steal money from the locker room at the gymnastics club we hung out at. Stupid stuff, stuff we shouldn't have been doing, but we were kids, hardly even teenagers, and we were testing our boundaries.

We would tell our parents we were going to the mall or the movies, and hop the train to hang out in the head shops down on Yonge Street. We would say we were sleeping over at one or the others house, then stay out really late, hanging out in the park or at McDonalds. We weren't supposed to hang out down town, but it was fun there, so we would make up stories about where we were, and take the bus to where we wanted to go.

But we weren't all bad. We spent a lot of time doing things that kids from 11 thru 13 do. We went camping with our parents, made popcorn and spent the afternoon watching movies. We made up silly games, and rode our bikes through town singing songs as we went.

We talked for hours about the boys we liked, Kevin and Jeff, Wesley and Jason. Or the stars we would drool over, Billy Idol, Judd Nelson, Mikhail Baryshnikov and Rob Lowe.

We planned birthday parties for each other, laughing over cake & ice cream, wearing stupid hats and making funny birthday cards.

Once we hit highschool, Jeanette and I started to move in different directions. We still liked each other, said hello in the halls, sat together if we were in the same class. But the closeness was gone, she had new friends and so did I. It is just the way things go with friendships at that age.

I didn't realize it then, but I really do see it now. Meeting Jeanette was one of the highlights of my childhood. I have her to thank for teaching me how to be a friend, and how to interact with people. With Jeanette I learned how to value friendship, and that I could be valued as a friend.

Who Knew

This song/video just seems to go with the previous 4 posts. I know, it's totally not eighties, but it just fits.

Scott, Part 4.

I guess it is time I finally finished this story. It has been keeping me from writing anything else, knowing I have to finish this one first.

Scott moved out at the end of January. I admit I was quite sad at first. I realize I was the one that broke up with him, I asked him to leave, but it still hurt all the same. He had been my life for nearly three years, and at 20 years old, that was a long time.

I soon realized that having Scott gone was a bit of a relief. I was no longer worrying about him, wondering where he was and what he was doing. I was able to go out with my friends without looking at the clock, thinking I should get home to him before it is too late. I was still talking to him every few days, he seemed happy in his new place, and although he would not admit it, I was sure he was seeing someone new.

Somewhere in mid February, I started to think there was something wrong. I was really tired, I was not feeling very good, and I was getting awful cramps. It occurred to me that I had not had a period since the middle of January, so just in case I bought a home pregnancy test. I nearly died when I saw that it was positive.

My world stopped. Here I was, trying to start a new life, enjoying being on my own for the very first time, happy to be out of a very unhealthy relationship. And suddenly, that seemed like it was all going to be taken away. I was 20 years old, single, in school, and pregnant.

It took me a few days to tell Scott. I had always had a hard time telling him things I was afraid would upset him, and I knew this would upset him more that anything.

I called him and asked him to come out for dinner with me. I kept trying all night to tell him, but could not bring myself to do it. I tried driving around, hoping that if I didn't have to look at him it would be easier, but I was afraid I would start crying. So finally, after we had been out for a few hours, I pulled into the parking at his complex and parked the car.

"I have to tell you something" I said to him, looking straight ahead, out my window.

You could hear the hesitation in his voice when he asked me what it was.

"I'm pregnant"

"Oh" he said. "Oh shit"

And with that, he opened his door, and got out of the car, closed the door and walked away.

I sat there for a moment. Stunned. I don't really know what I expected from him, but it sure wasn't that.

I tried to call Scott for a few days after that, but he would not come to the phone. Finally, about a week later, I got a call from one of roommates, telling me I needed to go over there.

I found Scott, sitting cross legged on the floor of his room, staring off into space. He was not talking, nor would he look at anyone. I asked the guys what was wrong with him, none really knew, but they did admit he had been experimenting with different drugs over the past few weeks, and he had been sitting there for almost a day.

I sat down right in front of him, and tried talking to him. He adverted his gaze away from me, and refused to answer me. I reached out and grabbed his hands, but he pulled them away, instead hiding his face in them, his long hair covering both his hands and face.

I begged him to talk to me; tears were streaming down my face. I got angry, telling him he needed to deal with life, he had to talk to me, help me figure out what we were going to do.

He finally looked up, and looked right into my eyes. His face was wet, he had been crying too. He seemed like he was trying to talk, he would open his mouth, but nothing would come out. I watched as he clenched his fists, and slammed them into his lap. I tried to grab his hands again, but he pulled them away like I had burned him, he shot me one last look, and then was staring into space again.

Finally I left. I could not take it anymore. I told his roommates to call me if he got worse, and to make him call me if he ever snapped out of it.

I cried for days. I was so torn. I ached for Scott; I mourned the end of our relationship. I was scared for my future; somehow I knew I would be raising this baby alone.

Finally Scott called me and asked to talk.

He apologized for the way he had acted, and claimed he could barely remember those few days. He told me he would support me in whatever I chose to do.

I got him to admit he had a girlfriend, and he also admitted he had been using some really hard drugs.

He promised he was going to stop, just stick to smoking pot and hash. He said his girlfriend was really nice, and knew I would like her.

It was hardly a month later, when Scott announced to me he was going to move to BC.

Just for a short time he said. He and his girlfriend just wanted to get away for awhile; they would come back in October when the baby was due. What could I do, I had no hold on him.

Right after he left, I got a call from the manager at the bank where I worked. The account I had held jointly with Scott, and had neglected to take his name off of, was overdrawn by $600.00. Scott had written a cheque on the account to finance his trip, and I was now responsible for the loss.

This was in late March.

Sometime in the later part of summer, Scott called to tell me they were back in Ontario. He and his girlfriend had hitchhiked home, and were planning on staying, wanting to be here for me when the baby was born.

I picked up Scott and took him out for a drive so we could talk.

I was trying to get out of him how much of a role he wanted to play in the baby's life. I wanted to know if he would be there for more than just an occasional visit.

He promised me he would. He wanted to live close by me, so he could spend as much time as he could with us.

But then I asked him about the drugs. I told him in no uncertain terms would I want any drug use around the baby. I asked him what he would do if he was taking care of it and some of his friends came by and wanted to get high.

He said it should not make a difference. At least when the kid was little right?

Well he was wrong. I told him that until he could prove to me that he would stay sober, and not let his friends near my baby, he would never see it.

The argument went back and forth for some time, but finally came to a head when he made a comment that infuriated me.

"This is why I am with Trish. (the new girlfriend) She does not judge me. She really loves me. She loves me for who I am...."

I slammed on my breaks, looked him right in the eye and said, "You fucker. How dare you accuse me of not loving you? I gave you everything I was. I gave up everything I had. I took care of you for three years. I loved you with all my heart You took it all, with hardly giving anything in return. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CAR!"

And I left him there, out in the boonies, about 15km from town. I still to this day don't know how he got back, and I really didn't care.

I heard a few days later that he and Trish left again for BC. I got a letter from him about a month later, apologizing for what he said, telling me he was sorry he could not be there for me. He said he would come back again in October, be there for the birth of the baby. I never responded.

Fall came and Scott never arrived. I did not expect him to. I had two wonderful girlfriends that were there for me through the pregnancy, coming to doctor’s appointments, going to birthing classes, giving me a shoulder to cry on when I felt overwhelmed.

On October 26th, with my Mom, my brother and my best friend by my side I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy, sweet 8 1/2 lb baby boy. I named him Christopher for my friends Christine and Charissa. I gave him my maiden name for a surname, and left the spot on the birth certificate that named the father blank.

Christopher would be my son, and no one else's.

In November, when Christopher was about 3 weeks old, I got another letter form Scott. He had heard about the baby through his sister, whom I had called. He was so sorry that he could not make it when he was born; he gave some wild excuse that I don't even remember.

I was done, finished. I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. So I wrote him back.

"My son and I are just fine without you. Please do not contact me anymore. I want nothing to do with you."

Scott never tried to contact me again, and I have not once in the last 14 years ever regretted that decision. Our lives have been better for it.

Scott, part three

In the fall of 1992 I went back to school. I started at Humber College, taking a business program.

At the same time, I managed to convince Scott to try and go back to high school, to see if he could get his diploma as well.

I was feeling wonderful. Dad had given me my car back, so that I could get to school, and enjoy some freedom. I dropped Scott off at school each morning, and in the evenings we would often go out together, go for drinks, play pool, hang out with old friends.

By the end of September I had made a whole new group of friends at school. I was on the softball team, staying late to work on assignments, or going to the bar after school. I was starting to see less and less of Scott.

Scott had a new group of friends too. Some guys from school were renting the basement of the house across the street from us, and he spent a lot of time over there. Honestly, I was relieved. Although I knew he was going there to get stoned, at least I knew he wasn't moping around the house when I wasn't there.

It seemed we hardly were even connecting anymore. Weeks would go by without us having sex, sometimes we would go days without even seeing each other. Either I would get home after he was in bed, or he would be home after I was.

I would ask him to go out with me and my friends from school, but he wasn't interested in meeting them. I thought for sure he would have fun at the parties I was going to, but since none of my friends smoked up and got high, he was not interested.

The same would go for me. I had been clean for 10 months, and I was not interested in hanging out with his friends, watching them get high.

In November I celebrated my 20th birthday. Some of my friends wanted to take me out for dinner and we made plans to go to Red Lobster together. I really wanted Scott to come with me, I was still determined to make it work with him, and despite everything, I was still desperately in love with him.

Scott wouldn't go, and I was heartbroken. What should have been an awesome evening was darkened. I pretended all was well, made excuses for him to my friends, but I felt like crying the whole time. He tried to make it up to me, even bought me a beautiful sweater and gave me a really sweet card, but I think it was the beginning of the end for us.

I stopped trying. I stopped asking him to come out with me, stopped trying to make plans for just the two of us. We slept together in the same bed, but never touched each other. I stopped telling him I loved him, never kissed him goodbye anymore. I think I knew it was over, but just did not know how to tell him.

Near the end of December, close to the beginning of Christmas Holiday's, I went out with one of my new friends Missy, and her roommate Dave. I had been checking Dave out for awhile, thought he was incredibly cute. He was so different from Scott, had a good job, a social life, even owned his own house.

We we staying by each other's side all night at the bar. It felt great to be with someone who was giving me their full attention, doing what they could to make me happy. I loved having his arm around me, and when he kissed me goodnight, I kissed him right back. It was the first and only time I had ever cheated on Scott.

I went home that night and wrote Scott a letter. I knew I would not be able to tell him to his face. I told him how much I loved him, but that we were going in different directions and needed to be apart. I said I knew he was not happy living with my Dad, but I needed to be there, needed to make something of my life. I said I thought it was time he moved out, found himself. I never said it was completely over, but that we needed to take a break and figure out who we were on our own.

I told him he could stay as long as he needed to find somewhere to live. I was not kicking him out, but he needed to find something as soon as he could.

It was the hardest thing I had ever wrote. I crawled into bed that night and for the first time in a long time I kissed Scott on the head, and put my arm around him while I slept. I laid awake most of the night, trying to convince myself I was doing the right thing, but as I looked at him tears would come to my eyes, and I would not be so sure.

But that morning, before I left, I put the letter on my pillow, next to where he slept. I kissed him again and whispered I love you to him, and went off to school.

I remember telling Missy what I had done, she was so happy she squealed and jumped up and down in the middle of our computer class. I pretended I was happy and relieved, but this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach just would not go away. I had spent nearly three years with Scott. At 20 years old, that was a really long time.

When I got home Scott was not there. In fact he did not come home for days.

When he did we talked for a long time. We cried and hugged and he told me he understood. He had a feeling this was coming for a really long time. He would start looking for a place, and hoped to be moved out by the end of January.

So for the next month or so, we just went through the motions. Nothing ever came of Dave and I, he said he wanted to wait until Scott was gone, didn't want to be the rebound guy.

For lack of anywhere else to go, Scott still slept in the same bed as I. But with the late hours we both kept, doing our own thing, we never went to bed or woke up at the same time. We stayed on our own sides of the bed. And although he never told me, I was sure he was already seeing someone else.

Near the end of January, Scott announced he had somewhere to live. He and the guys that had been living across from us had found a townhouse and would be moving out the end of January.

That hit me hard. Although I was the one that asked him to leave, I could not believe he was really going.

I don't know what started it, but that night we got into a fight. Some hurtful things were said, and we were both crying. However neither of us went out, and by the time we went to bed, we were both emotionally drained.

I'll never forget that night. I was lying there, knowing it would be one of the last times I laid next to Scott. I could smell his familiar smell, and was listening to the sound of his breathing. His hand was on his pillow, right next to my face, and I reached up and held it in mine.

Tears were streaming down my face, and although I tried to muffle the sounds of my sobs, it woke him up. He reached over and touched my face, wiping away the tears. I looked him in the eyes and said I will always love you Scott, no matter what.

He smiled and told me he loved me too, and then leaned in and kissed me.

One thing led to another, and we would up having sex. It was the first time we had been together like that for over four months, and it was so sweet, so loving, but it so much felt like goodbye.

We fell asleep in each others arms for the last time.

The next day when I returned home from school, Scott was gone. He managed to get into the townhouse early, and packed all of things and left. I was not expecting it and it hit me really hard. I locked myself in my bedroom and refused to come out for the rest of the night. I found one of his tee-shirts in the laundry and fell asleep holding it, pretending he was there with me. I felt so stupid, like such a coward for giving up on him, but I was still sure it was the right thing to do.

Scott, part 2

The following spring Scott moved out of the place he was living and into a basement apartment with of all people, Gillian's best friend.

As terrible as that sounds, it really was a step up. He had been living in the basement of what could only be described as a crack house. It was an awful little space, not even a room, just a bed and couch next to the furnace.

At least in this new place there was a fridge & stove, a shower and bed and less chance of being robbed, or worse, in your sleep.

Gillian's friend, who was also named Teresa, could barely tolerate me. Why would she? I had made her best friend miserable, stolen her boyfriend, and god knows what else. It did not make it easy to hang around there, but I wanted to be with Scott, and I was not going to let her stop me.

Unfortunately, things went from bad to worse there. Scott and Teresa were not getting along, Gillian was always hanging around, and Scott's drug use was getting worse and worse.

He was so depressed, not wanting to live there. His moods got darker, almost scary. The way he would talk, saying things about hurting those that hurt him, he actually started to scare me. But I was in too deep, and I did not know how to get out.

The rumours were flying. Scott's friends were turning their back on him, accusations were being made about me, it was everything we feared it would be if we came out about our relationship. In breaking up with Gillian, treating her the way he did, Scott managed to alienate everyone around him.

I hated what was happening. The people I thought were my friends, those I thought I could trust were turning their back on me. It was like Scott had made it so that it would just be the two of us, no one else.

Eventually Teresa moved out of the apartment, leaving Scott there to himself. I thought it would be better, we told ourselves we only needed each other. We could care less about what people were saying about us.

It was quickly decided that I would leave home and move in with him. I was miserable at home, always getting into trouble, my brother was treating me like crap. I wanted out.

We had it all planned out, I would go on student welfare, take the bus to school everyday and finish the semester. I would get a part time job, and in the summer we would get married.

Of course things did not work out that way. Within weeks I had dropped out of school, I could not find a job, and Scott was not even looking. He just sat in the house all day, reading or watching TV. He never did anything, the place was a mess, we hardly had any food, and no one ever came to see us.

He started getting mean too. Not hitting me or yelling at me, just saying mean stuff. He would tease me about what I wore, what I read, what music I listened to. One night it got really bad, he was teasing me relentlessly because I wanted to watch 90210. Calling me a silly girl, telling me to grow up. I was washing the dishes, frustrated at the fact that he had been sitting in the same chair for hours on end, not doing a thing. I filled a glass with hot water & threw it at him. I told him he was never to treat me like that again. He of course sulked for hours, making me feel guilty. Eventually I was the one that apologized to him, and he just went back to his old ways.

There we were, barley 18 years old, living in a tiny, dirty apartment, never going out, sitting around all day, getting high and watching TV. We sat and talked about how hard the world was on people like us, how it wasn't our fault we ended up like this, we managed to find a way to blame everyone else but ourselves.

The only good day was the day the welfare cheques came. We would take a cab to the grocery store. Spend a bunch of money on food, things like Pop Tarts and Kool-Aid, peanut butter and a few loaves of bread. Then we would buy a few cartons of cigarettes, enough to get us few the next couple of weeks. On the way home we would see our dealer, stock up on some pot or hash and then grab a case of beer. Usually more was spent on drugs and beer than groceries, and within days the money was gone.

I was incredibly, terribly, unhappy.

I missed my friends, I missed school, I missed home. But there was no way in hell I was going to admit that to anyone. On occasion I would walk the three blocks to the nearest payphone to talk to one of my friends, I would pretend everything was wonderful, I was so happy, and so in love. Living on my own was great I would tell them, I could do anything I wanted, no one told me what to do.

Thank goodness I still had my parents on my side. As I wrote about in 5,601 Days, I was lucky my father gave me a second chance. He helped me get a job at CIBC, and within a few months I had stopped doing drugs and was heading in the right direction again.

I think watching me pull away; making a life for myself really scared Scott. At first he became more withdrawn, even more depressed. He never left the house, hardly spoke to me and would spend hours staring at the walls, not saying a word.

Eventually though, he seemed to come out of his shell a bit. Perhaps the fear of losing me was greater than his fear of being out in the world. We started going out on occasion with some of his old friends, playing pool, going for a drink. But he refused to join me in any bank functions. I went to BBQ's and Christmas parties on my own.

He still refused to get a job; he had every excuse in the book not too. When I was at work he sat at home, reading, watching TV, drawing or writing. He never cleaned, never did any laundry, never did anything productive.

However, if you asked, I would never complain. I still insisted he made me so happy, told everyone he was so good to me. I never let him know what I thought, I was so afraid of hurting him, so afraid if one more person let him down, he would break.

The following summer, my parents split up. It had been coming for a long time, and I think having me leave home might have been the final straw. Dad bought a house in Oakville, and Scott and I agreed to move in with him, eventually turning the basement of the house into an apartment for the two of us.

I was excited to be getting out of the little apartment we had been in for more than a year. I was sick of sharing a shower with the other people that lived there, having to hoard toilet paper, and having nothing more than a tiny little window to look out of.

Scott on the other hand was not too keen on the idea. He liked being alone, having no one to bug him, I think he knew that my Dad would try and push him out into the world, force him to tidy up after himself, and make him do some work. We moved in the house in July, and within days it was obvious it was not going to work.

Scott and Dad were constantly clashing. Dad wanted Scott to do more, get off his ass. Scott wanted to close the door to his room and go back to watching TV or reading. I was stuck in the middle, having to listen to Dad complain one minute, and then turn around and listen to Scott. I loved them both, and I did not know what to do.

One good thing that did come out of the situation, Scott was suddenly more willing to go out more, he wanted to get out of that house. Only trouble, he seemed to spend the time I was at work hanging out at friends houses getting high all the time. I would come home from work and he would be no where to be found, eventually coming in smelling of pot and beer.

Our relationship really started to suffer, but just when I thought all was lost, we would have one of those moments, one of those times where we clicked. I knew somewhere inside of Scott was my soul mate, the person I was meant to be with, and I was not going to give up without a fight.

To be continued…..

Scott, part one.

I met Scott at a party. He was sitting under the stairwell, getting high with his friend named Cleatus.

I was walking up the stairs, with my friend Christine, when we spotted them there. Chris hung over the staircase, and said "Look Tee....there's a peeple under the stairs!"

This brought forth peals of laughter from the two boys. Chris had this way of sounding like a ditzy blonde when she was drunk, and this night was no different.

I was immediately drawn to Scott. If I were to describe to you back then what my perfect guy would look like, it would have been him. Tall, skinny, with very long, blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore tight faded blue jeans, and a black concert shirt. On his head was a bandanna, tied back to keep his hair out of his face.

We ended up under the stairs, talking to Scott and Cleatus for some time. For the life of me, I don't remember anymore of what was said, but I do know I left that party, wanting to get to know Scott better.

Over the next few months I only saw Scott here and there, at this party or that. Then he just disappeared, and I almost forgot about him.

It was late in the spring when I ran into him again. We were parked out in the boonies, a bunch of us with our cars. There were about 20-30 people milling about in the dark, having a few drinks, sharing a few tokes.

I came across Scott at some point in the night and we started to talk. I found out he had been kicked out of his house. He had stolen his Dad's car and wound up in jail for a week or two. He had just returned to Oakville, and was living on the streets.

So typical me, with my desire to help everyone, wanted to help Scott. I ended up driving around with him late into the night, getting him something to eat, and helping him find a place to crash for the night.

And so the pattern began.

Almost every day from that night on I would go to Oakville as soon as school let out, pick him up and we'd spend the afternoon and most of the night together.

We'd go park somewhere, get high, and share a slice of pizza, whatever.

We talked about everything. It was like I had known him forever. We liked the same music, the same movies, the same people. We laughed at the same jokes, and often found ourselves finishing each other sentences. It was like we were a match made in heaven.

Only problem, Scott had a girlfriend.

Gillian was her name...and boy she hated me.

She was younger, very naive, and was so in love with Scott.

Since she did not have a car, and had a pretty strict curfew, it was hard for her to see Scott. And once I came along, he was spending so much time with me; they never got to be alone.

Scott told me he wanted to break up with her; he just did not have the heart to do it. He did not want to break her heart.

I understood that he just did not want a girlfriend right then. His life was too messed up; he did not need that extra baggage. He was grateful to have me as a friend, but that was all he wanted. It did not stop me from wanting him though.

We continued on like that for some time. Spending nearly every day together, as friends. Gillian stuck around, never accepting him breaking up with her. She seemed convinced he wanted and needed her.

Eventually, as the summer wore on, Scott and I became closer and closer. He felt like my boyfriend, some people even assumed he was. We flirted, like girls and boys do, but it never went any further.

Until one night, late in August when we shared our first kiss. We were a little more stoned than usual, alone and goofing around. We were flirting quite heavily, play fighting and wrestling with each other. We had this running joke, teasing each other, saying, “I know you want me”, and countering with “Not as much as you want me”. We’d been doing it for months.

But that night was different. I could not resist anymore. He was laughing and smiling, something Scott did not do too often, and I wanted him so bad. I stopped and was looking right into his eyes.

He said, “Don’t give me that look”

“What Look?”, I asked.

“You’re looking at me with those Fuck Me Eyes”. He was always teasing that you could tell exactly what I was thinking by looking into my eyes.

I felt myself turn red and I looked away.

“I knew you wanted me…” He muttered, with a sly grin on his face.

“So what if I do” I said back, looking him in the eyes again.

Scott just stopped…looked right at me for a minute, grabbed my face with his hands, and kissed me.

It was amazing. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like he was meant to kiss me, like no other kiss I had ever received mattered anymore. I never wanted it to end.

We talked for a bit that night on the way home. We decided we would not tell anyone about what we had done. He really did not want to loose me as his friend; he wanted things to go back as they were.

So we did just that.

There were nights we would end up alone, and some of those nights we would find ourselves making out again. It would get pretty hot, but always stopped just short of us actually having sex. It was like it was just an extension to our friendship, and he was so sad and lonely, I think he needed to feel close to someone.

But things were changing. We just kept getting closer and closer. I don't know if it was the drugs, but I felt like we could read each other's minds. Sometimes we would sit in the car, just staring at each other for hours, but feel like we were having a conversation. We'd even laugh spontaneously, at the same time. I had never in my life felt more connected, more in tune with anyone.

It was my 18th birthday, mid November, when we finally had sex for the first time. At first it was just like any other night, but this time I would not let him stop. I wanted him so badly, and he knew it. We were in my car, in a graveyard. We were stoned out of our minds on LSD and hash. We had been having a great day together, he had been trying to make the day special for me. So when we got to that point. The point where we usually stopped, I looked at him for a moment, and he smiled, the smile I so rarely saw him give anyone. I knew I had to be with him. I wanted to be with him forever.

After that things did change. We started acting a bit like a couple around some of our friends. It was kind of fun really, like we had this special secret. When we were alone we would hold hands, kiss each other good night, sometimes spend the night together in his apartment.

But if any of Gillian's friends were around, we acted like nothing had changed.

Scott kept telling me she was fragile. He was so afraid of breaking her heart. He was afraid that everyone would hate us if he dumped her for me. He did not want to give that satisfaction to those who thought we had been screwing around all along.

He said he cared so much for me though. He wanted to be with me. I just needed to be patient. Someday it would just be us.

And like the stupid girl I was, I put up with it.

One night I went to see him at home. He had been expecting me but when I got there his landlord told me not to go down to his apartment, Gillian was there.

So I sat upstairs and waited for her to leave. When she finally did, she left crying.

Scott told me he had finally done it. He had broken up with her. He assured me she got it this time, and knew they were over.

He said that we should still not tell everyone about us. He did not want to hurt her more, make her think I was the reason we broke up. And I accepted that. I loved him so much; I was willing to do anything for him. I would take whatever I could get.

I was so happy that he was finally mine I practically lept into his arms. He seemed a bit hesitant, like he really was not in the mood, but I didn't care. I wanted to show him how happy he had made me.

But then I realized what was wrong. I could smell it on him. There was no mistaking that smell. He had just had sex with Gillian. I was so grossed out that actually gagged. I almost threw up on him.

I was completely humiliated. But I didn’t want to annoy him, make him think I couldn’t handle it. I just lied and told him I was not feeling well, I must be coming down with something. I got dressed and went home.

And of course, within days, Gillian was back. She would pop up at a party and suddenly Scott would be at her side, not mine. They would go off on walks together, "just to talk".

He kept insisting there was nothing going on; he was just trying to let her down easy. She was really having a hard time with the break up, and she got so upset to see me around him.

I pretended like I was cool with it. I wanted him to think I was mature, I could handle anything. The last thing I wanted Scott to think was that I was like her. I wasn't needy and clingy. I wanted to be the type of girl he wanted, and I was willing to wait forever to be with him.

It took me years to understand just how much he was using and manipulating me. He was doing it to both Gillian and me. I had never been taken advantage of so badly, before or since.

But this is not the end…only just the beginning. I will continue this another time.

Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes

I met Sara in grade 9. I don't exactly remember how we met, but I do remember how we got to know each other.

During her lunch hour, Sara would sit in front of the science room, waiting for her next class. I happened by her one day, and we started talking. We got along so well, that I started going to see her every day, and we sat there in the hallway, waiting for next period, talking about everything.

At some point a boy named Greg joined Sara and I in our daily meetings. He was a sweet boy, a little on the goofy side, and made us both laugh our asses off. Unfortunately we laughed and carried on so much, that it wasn't long before we were kicked out of the hallway and told to go hang out somewhere else.

So, we moved our little party to the stairwell, and for the rest of the semester the three of us met there everyday, to talk about nothing in particular, but everything that was important to us.

Once the semester was over, we no longer all had the same lunch hour, so we no longer met in the stairwell. But by then, Sara and I were great friends. I had also become friends with another of Sara's friends, Emma, and the three of us had become inseparable.

Once we hit grade 10, Sara, Emma and I were starting to test our boundaries. We had started hanging out in the smoker's area at school, meeting all sorts of new people. We were skipping school on a regular basis, going Sara's house, listening to music, talking about boys and school and anything that was on our minds.

The time I felt closest to Sara was when we were in the first semester of grade 11. I was going out with Shawn, and Sara had been going out with a boy named James for a few months. We were taking Chemistry class together, and failing miserably. Unfortunately, we were not yet 16, so we were not allowed to drop courses without our parent’s permission, and we were both on thin ice for skipping so many classes in grade 10. We had to go to that class, or we would be in trouble.

So, Sara and I spent the time writing notes back and forth to each other. 70 minutes is a long time to sit around doing nothing, it helped us pass the time. We filled a few notebooks with our notes. One of which I still have.

This is copied right from that book.

Sara - "Don't you hate it when you think about some of the things you've done in your life and you think why the hell did I do that? I hate it when that happens"

Teresa - "I know. Sometimes I wonder if I am going to look back on this time in our lives and say the same thing! Sure as hell hope not. I think maybe right now is going to be the best time in my life. I have this feeling I will always think Shawn was the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if we don't work out, he's taught me a lot, things I really did need to know."

Sara - "I know what you mean. These are supposed to be the best times of our lives. And I know for a fact that James is the best thing that ever happened to me."

I read that and I know the sentiment of what we wrote is true. I do look back on that time and consider it one of the best times of my life.

Just like all my other girlfriends, Sara and I eventually drifted apart. I saw her from time to time, tried to keep in touch, but by the time we were in our 20's we were leading different lives. She moved out of the house and in with her boyfriend even before I did. And soon I was off to college, and hanging out with a totally different bunch of people.

I never forgot Sara though, I thought about her often. Over the years I made a few attempts to find her, but was never successful.

I've had this post in my draft file for some time. I just never got around to finishing it. Until this last week, when thanks to the help of a few friends and the magic of the internet, I finally found Sara again. We have exchanged emails and hope to get together soon, the three of us, Sara, Emma and me. I can almost hear the giggles already.