Cause I Just Can't Stay Away, There's Nothing That I Can Do, And Baby You Can Have Your Way, Just As Long As I Can Have You
--"Anything", Jojo
It was the week after I had first run into that certain redheaded girl. Rather than protest vehemently my going to church, I was actually looking forward to it. I never had any real compulsion to attend church, even while I went to parochial elementary schools and a catholic high schools. I just never any had any reason to want it go. I never had any real strong connection to God and the theories they spouted in class and at mass never held any logic for me. But Sniffler? Sniffler was a reason to go. In fact, she was the main reason I was looking forward to Sunday.
I even wanted to get dressed, which is something I hardly ever do. The week prior she had seen me in rather shoddy attire as before I met her, I was more inclined to dress comfortably rather than stylishly. Who was I trying to impress? God? Certainly not. It's been said that love or whatever you want to call makes you do strange things. I was the test case for that theory. Not only did spend about two hours getting ready that Sunday, but I was nervous in a way that I hadn't been since junior high. There was this girl, apparently waiting for me (or at least that's what I told myself) who had looked absolutely amazing the week before--even while she was suffering from a bad cold and even while she couldn't have been enjoying herself at all for that hour we were in neighboring pews. I don't know if it was the getting dressed up for mass or the glow from the small beads of sweat of her temperature was inducing, but she had made impression enough on me to want to look nice for her.
My whole routine had changed. Whereas in prior weeks I had tried to sleep in as late as I could on the weekends, that weekend it was all I could do to go to sleep the night before. Plus, in the morning, I sprung out of bed, intent on getting a fresh start to my day so as to look my best.
As Breanne can attest to, it doesn't happen to me often where I give such a damn about how I look or how I act. However, even I can succumb to the impulse to try and make an impression on a pretty girl. It's the romantic in me, I think. Chalk it up to chivalry or good manners, but I think if you're interested in someone, you owe it to them to make yourself appealing themselves. That's what I wanted to do. I wanted to be just as appealing to her as she was to me. She deserved that much. I mean--someone that breathtaking shouldn't settle for the schlub I must have appeared the week before, someone who would have looked out of place at even the beach. My hair was all a mess. My demeanor before talking to her was vehemently bitter. If it weren't for the fact all that red hair simply clouded my determination to remain discontent, I probably would have left church feeling like yet another hour of my life had been wasted.
When it came to leave, I even offered to my brother Francis that he could stay home. The less people around me while I talked to her, the better. It was bad enough that my mom had to drive me there, but the idea of Francis standing next to me was incorrigible. Couple to this, the fact he was under no hurry to get to church, I thought it better if we just left him behind. Again, that was a break from tradition because, if anything, Francis was my only distraction when we had usually gone to church. The fact that I was so keen to leave him behind only meant that I had found another more compelling distraction.
Unfortunately, he tagged along anyway.
When we got to church, I immediately scanned the entire area for the sight of her. I looked at where the family had sat last week. No dice. I continued to look for another few minutes before we all had to sit down. Disheartened, I took my seat near the middle of the row. I was sure she wouldn't show up. I felt my whole day was ruined. Not only did I have the misfortune of being in church, I also had to contend with the fact that perhaps she'd be like my Holy Grail of Milkshakes, something to be enjoyed but the one time. I actually started thinking that, if I did come back to church and continued the facade of being a nice, religious son, I would always be reminded of the one time this beautiful girl had sat next to me and deemed me interesting enough to say a few pitiful words to.
Either way, my routine was ruined. I couldn't go back to not wanting to go to church. I'd always be thinking what if that was the one week she had decided to come back. I'd always worry that I'd miss her and, if by some miracle she was looking forward to seeing me as I was looking forward to seeing her, I would disappoint her irrevocably. That wasn't a chance I was willing to take. But I also couldn't go back to being numb and apathetic through the service either. What if she did show up and the first thing she saw was my dumb ass looking once again pissed off or worse? What then? Whenever I did go back to church I would have to look interested and interesting the whole time for fear I dissuade her from approaching me. So it was that weekend that I put the smile of God onto my mom's face because I gave the impression I was ga-ga gung-ho for God that day. I was smiling, talkative, and generally the opposite portrait to my usual downtrodden visage. I looked like a person who was happy to be there when, in actuality, I was counting the minutes till I could leave.
Then she, lovely as ever, showed up with her older sister and I really was happy to be there.
And when she said hello to me, after sitting two rows away from my family (two rows might as well have been another state), it was all the validation I needed that change was good, change was warranted, and that my routine before had been entirely without merit. From that day on till eighteen months later I was at church bright and early.
Every so often I had chance enough to hold a few conversations with her--never getting her name, of course, because that was kind of her appeal. Other than that, the new routine never changed. I'd show up to church. She and her sister would come ten or fifteen minutes later. She'd come sit closeby, but never quite the next row. Sometimes we'd sneak a small talk out by the front doors as we were leaving. Sometimes we'd sneak a small talk after we'd both pretend we needed to go the rest room. In either case, the bulk of our friendship was built on the idea that for an hour we saw each other and only knew the best of one another.
She thought I was this dutiful and pious son.
I thought she was the perfect young woman without questionable character flaws or any nonesuch.
That was the routine. That was the order of the universe for the next eighteen months. That's the last time my world was in perfect harmony.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
It was the week after I had first run into that certain redheaded girl. Rather than protest vehemently my going to church, I was actually looking forward to it. I never had any real compulsion to attend church, even while I went to parochial elementary schools and a catholic high schools. I just never any had any reason to want it go. I never had any real strong connection to God and the theories they spouted in class and at mass never held any logic for me. But Sniffler? Sniffler was a reason to go. In fact, she was the main reason I was looking forward to Sunday.I even wanted to get dressed, which is something I hardly ever do. The week prior she had seen me in rather shoddy attire as before I met her, I was more inclined to dress comfortably rather than stylishly. Who was I trying to impress? God? Certainly not. It's been said that love or whatever you want to call makes you do strange things. I was the test case for that theory. Not only did spend about two hours getting ready that Sunday, but I was nervous in a way that I hadn't been since junior high. There was this girl, apparently waiting for me (or at least that's what I told myself) who had looked absolutely amazing the week before--even while she was suffering from a bad cold and even while she couldn't have been enjoying herself at all for that hour we were in neighboring pews. I don't know if it was the getting dressed up for mass or the glow from the small beads of sweat of her temperature was inducing, but she had made impression enough on me to want to look nice for her.
My whole routine had changed. Whereas in prior weeks I had tried to sleep in as late as I could on the weekends, that weekend it was all I could do to go to sleep the night before. Plus, in the morning, I sprung out of bed, intent on getting a fresh start to my day so as to look my best.
As Breanne can attest to, it doesn't happen to me often where I give such a damn about how I look or how I act. However, even I can succumb to the impulse to try and make an impression on a pretty girl. It's the romantic in me, I think. Chalk it up to chivalry or good manners, but I think if you're interested in someone, you owe it to them to make yourself appealing themselves. That's what I wanted to do. I wanted to be just as appealing to her as she was to me. She deserved that much. I mean--someone that breathtaking shouldn't settle for the schlub I must have appeared the week before, someone who would have looked out of place at even the beach. My hair was all a mess. My demeanor before talking to her was vehemently bitter. If it weren't for the fact all that red hair simply clouded my determination to remain discontent, I probably would have left church feeling like yet another hour of my life had been wasted.
When it came to leave, I even offered to my brother Francis that he could stay home. The less people around me while I talked to her, the better. It was bad enough that my mom had to drive me there, but the idea of Francis standing next to me was incorrigible. Couple to this, the fact he was under no hurry to get to church, I thought it better if we just left him behind. Again, that was a break from tradition because, if anything, Francis was my only distraction when we had usually gone to church. The fact that I was so keen to leave him behind only meant that I had found another more compelling distraction.
Unfortunately, he tagged along anyway.
When we got to church, I immediately scanned the entire area for the sight of her. I looked at where the family had sat last week. No dice. I continued to look for another few minutes before we all had to sit down. Disheartened, I took my seat near the middle of the row. I was sure she wouldn't show up. I felt my whole day was ruined. Not only did I have the misfortune of being in church, I also had to contend with the fact that perhaps she'd be like my Holy Grail of Milkshakes, something to be enjoyed but the one time. I actually started thinking that, if I did come back to church and continued the facade of being a nice, religious son, I would always be reminded of the one time this beautiful girl had sat next to me and deemed me interesting enough to say a few pitiful words to.
Either way, my routine was ruined. I couldn't go back to not wanting to go to church. I'd always be thinking what if that was the one week she had decided to come back. I'd always worry that I'd miss her and, if by some miracle she was looking forward to seeing me as I was looking forward to seeing her, I would disappoint her irrevocably. That wasn't a chance I was willing to take. But I also couldn't go back to being numb and apathetic through the service either. What if she did show up and the first thing she saw was my dumb ass looking once again pissed off or worse? What then? Whenever I did go back to church I would have to look interested and interesting the whole time for fear I dissuade her from approaching me. So it was that weekend that I put the smile of God onto my mom's face because I gave the impression I was ga-ga gung-ho for God that day. I was smiling, talkative, and generally the opposite portrait to my usual downtrodden visage. I looked like a person who was happy to be there when, in actuality, I was counting the minutes till I could leave.
Then she, lovely as ever, showed up with her older sister and I really was happy to be there.
And when she said hello to me, after sitting two rows away from my family (two rows might as well have been another state), it was all the validation I needed that change was good, change was warranted, and that my routine before had been entirely without merit. From that day on till eighteen months later I was at church bright and early.
Every so often I had chance enough to hold a few conversations with her--never getting her name, of course, because that was kind of her appeal. Other than that, the new routine never changed. I'd show up to church. She and her sister would come ten or fifteen minutes later. She'd come sit closeby, but never quite the next row. Sometimes we'd sneak a small talk out by the front doors as we were leaving. Sometimes we'd sneak a small talk after we'd both pretend we needed to go the rest room. In either case, the bulk of our friendship was built on the idea that for an hour we saw each other and only knew the best of one another.
She thought I was this dutiful and pious son.
I thought she was the perfect young woman without questionable character flaws or any nonesuch.
That was the routine. That was the order of the universe for the next eighteen months. That's the last time my world was in perfect harmony.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: church, compulsion, Jojo, Routine, Sniffler
posted by mojo shivers @ 8:11 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home