And So It Goes

When I was in eleventh grade, I was in love with a Mormon. His name was Scott and he was tall and blond and beautiful. He drove a tan Ford truck, appropriate as that was his last name, and he would pick me up on Saturday mornings and we would speed around town. We were together all day in speech and debate and practice for plays. He would rub my head and run his fingers through my hair and I would return the favor. For competitions he would often wear his favorite green sweater vest with the white stripe across the chest and would offer lunch time encouragements. Don't worry what those judges think, he would say, they're just stupid you were perfect. The day I wore tight pants, he grabbed my ass and I took it as a compliment. On our first and only not-a-date date, we went to see "The Man in the Iron Mask" with three other people. He drove and he paid, even though it was just as friends, and then took me home and said goodnight and drove away. On Monday, he was rude because I tried to repay the movie fare. She's just mad because she thought it was a date and it wasn't a date, I heard him say, even though I wasn't mad at all. The next day, in the library, he seemed better and kissed my cheek and I handed him the obligatory I-don't-know-what-you-were-thinking-but-I-was-thinking-we-went-just-as-friends note even though that wasn't what I was thinking. Then at McDonalds I accidentally insulted his beliefs and after that there was no more kissing, no more movies, no more grabbing, no more rubbing, no more talking. We continued that way and then he graduated and then I graduated and moved away. I later found out he was mad, and continues to be mad, because I gave him the $3.50 for the ticket. Silly reason not to talk to someone, I say, but it doesn't do anything to change the past or help the future. So, I did the only thing I could. I wrote a poem about it and here it is:

Like a Rock

My last obsession, you ass!
Do you remember our vacation in Canada?
Last week, when I was home,
I saw your mother in the grocery store-

As I approached her in between
the cheddar and the cheddar and
the two percent milk, her eyes
hardened, and I saw that she remembered.

She spoke well of you. I
think you would be proud, she
lied to me as well as you used to.
I see now where you get it.

Her intent, as she spoke of
all you were doing, was to observe
the pain in my eyes. You’d be proud,
I hid my emotions as well as you used to.
I see now where I get it.

The ice cream is melting, was her excuse
to leave, though I saw that she had none
in her shopping cart.

I asked her to say hello,
though I knew that she would
not. I never understood why
she came to hate me.

And now, as I stand
in my kitchen, my
all natural vanilla
ice cream melting
in my hands

I am amazed
at how well you
taught her to dislike
me. It’s funny,
though, because
my mother still loves you.


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