Vday Vol III: The Confession

Homewrecking at its best/worst. I present to you, the final installment of Vday Blunders.

There is a reason why “homewrecker” was my nickname in high school. This was not a favorite pastime of mine because it just happened once. Some would say I was wholly complicit in the matter. But as they say, it takes two to tango. …He just seemed to tango better with me.

I met Jeff at a leadership camp the summer before senior year. He was only memorable in that he was very flirtatious with all the other girls, myself included. Flirting is fine, but questionable if you have a girlfriend of 3 years back home. Nevertheless we kept in touch and we formed a friendship after camp ended. He broke his arm in a car accident and was unable to drive for majority of the summer. I had friends in his area so I would visit him every so often to get him out of the house. The debonair swagger I’d seen at camp was broken, much like his arm. The real Jeff was much more down to earth and relatable. And, he was gracious for my company and my concern.

My 18th birthday came around and I invited Jeff to my cotillion at the Fairmont. That night after the party ended, he and I stayed up all night talking and catching up. Finally at 7am, he left the hotel with just enough time to pick up is girlfriend at the airport. Days later, I was brazen enough to ask Jeff to be my date for Homecoming and have dinner with me Friday night. He answered yes to both.

I invited him to Gumba’s my favorite Italian restaurant and I joked that my first date dinners were always there. I was nervous because technically this wasn’t a date. This was dinner with a friend. Right?

We didn’t say much to one another because it was clear that we were both uneasy. He broke the silence first.

“Why did you invite me to dinner?”

“Why did you agree to come?” I rallied back.

“Well, why did you ask me to Homecoming?” he persisted.

“Why did you say yes?”

We smiled anxiously. It was obvious there was an attraction between us and we unconvincingly hid under the veil of “friendship.” So long as nothing happened we weren’t doing anything wrong.

Homecoming came along and Jeff was the perfect date. My friends wondered if he was my boyfriend but I was very quick to correct the assumption. Jeff however, seemed to have fun with the idea. All night he acted as if he were. He would put his arms around me and dance really close. I inhaled the scent of his cologne and kept telling myself that there was nothing wrong with this. When he got me back to my house, he had the arduous task of helping me take down the countless pins in my hair. We sat on the floor of my room, stifling our giggles in the wee hours of the morning while he plucked my hair and counted each one. When he finished, I shook my head, closed my eyes and ran my fingers slowly through my hair. I opened my eyes and he leaned forward and kissed me.

For the next two weeks I avoided him. I felt guilty for what had happened and I didn’t want to be the cause of any turmoil in his relationship. I dodged his many phone calls and refused to come to any camp social events. Finally one day, he caught me off guard and visited me at home. He said that it was over between him and Lynn and that their relationship had run its course. He wanted to be with me. I refused to be the rebound in this situation. I didn’t want to be some loose end (literally.) He laughed and held me close, “How could you be the rebound, when you’re the very reason I wanted to leave?”

--

We dated blissfully. I met his family and he met mine. He met my friends and I met his. Our worlds were intertwined and I was head over heels in love. Even through the most difficult of times we were the best of friends. His father got into a fatal car accident and was paralyzed from the neck down. Thankfully, the doctors said he could live in the comfort of his own home instead of the hospital. Jeff felt a lot of responsibility as the new man in the household and bore the weight on his shoulders heavily. He would carry him on his back: to and from the bed, to and from the shower, to and from doctor’s appointments. He would take care of his father with an unforeseen tenderness. My grandmother was ill at the time of all this and I cried heavily in his arms. She was slowly fading and her impending death was causing much tension in my own house. Jeff would make me laugh and remind me that life could be difficult, but what we had together didn’t have to be.

One day, Jeff was in the middle of midterms and I wanted to surprise him with lunch. I left class early to drive u to the East Bay and I packed him a can of Sprite and made him his favorite sushi. I parked my car in the lot and waited for the noon bell. I was fixing myself in the mirror and on it I saw a car pull up behind me. I racked my brain because there was something so familiar about the girl in the car, like I’d met her before. Just as the bell rang, I gave Jeff a call and met him outside of his class. He smiled and hugged me warmly. I presented him with my offering and he was profusely grateful. Suddenly, his best friend pulled him aside and whispered something in his ear. Jeff lowered his eyes and turned ashen white. Around the corner, came Lynn, his ex-girlfriend. She wanted to pay him a visit as well.

I stood frozen, cursing myself for even coming. I was on her turf now and I feared a classic hair-pulling chick fight was in order. If that happened, I just hoped that she would leave my favorite t-shirt intact. Surprisingly, she was sickly sweet to me. Of course it was all an act and it was all I could do but try to be nice in return. “Virg, I’ve heard so much about you!” Girl, I didn’t hear enough about you. And perhaps that was the problem? I could see why he was attracted to me because she and I were both petite Filipino women. The only difference was her breasts could have given me a beatdown of their own. I felt I had overstayed my welcome and looked for the exit. Jeff begged me not to go but the situation was awkward enough. For the second time around, I avoided Jeff like the plague. For 3 months I steered clear of him and cut of all communication. What happened that day was a cosmic collision. I felt it was a very clear sign that he and I shouldn’t even be together. I had forcefully created our relationship by wrecking his. This was my punishment.

Valentines’ Day came around and I was at the height of guilt and vulnerability. I mulled it over and decided that it wasn’t his fault that Lynn even showed up. As a freakish and cruel coincidence, she just happened to be there at the same exact moment as me. What Jeff and I had was special and I didn’t want to throw it away after one unpleasant encounter. I had to know if he still felt the same and if we could try again. After class I got a Valentine’s day card and fought traffic to get to his house. I was so fired up that I didn’t stop to think that maybe his feelings had faded in that bout of silence. I stood outside his front door and knew there was no turning back now. With my heart in my throat, I clutched the card in my hands like a silent prayer and rang the doorbell.

The door swung open and Lynn stood before me. She smirked and crossed her arms. I was without words and searched for Jeff. He emerged from the kitchen with two candlesticks and stopped dead in his tracks. This was my well-deserved retribution, my karmic slap to the face.

“Hey Virg, can I help you?” she asked.

“I… had a question to ask,” I said, keeping Jeff’s gaze. “But I guess I already know the answer.”

---

I think back on it now and I don’t regret anything I’d done. Everything happened as it should have. But I chuckle and wonder if the t-shirt I had on when I first met Lynn had anything to do with her unrelenting hatred of me and their consequent make-up. My favorite bright red, tight-fitting t-shirt read,

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because your boyfriend thinks I am.

Vday Vol II: The Flowers

Drowning cell phone, a hustling baby's daddy and a near car collision. I present to you, Vday Vol II.

My pepper-red Nokia 8260 was on its last beep. I had stuck it in my back pocket and it fell out into a public toilet one afternoon as I was rushing to class. Heartbroken, I went to the nearby Fox Hills Mall to see if I could get it replaced. The guy behind the counter was helpful (and flirting) and promised me a new phone by that weekend under one condition.

“Yea we can totally get you a new phone as soon as Saturday night,” he said. “Are you available then?”

“Great! What time is the mall closing?”

“Why don’t I bring it to you at dinner?”

I was stunned. “James” his nametag read, was tall and lanky and didn’t really fill out his clothes. But he had an adorable smile and piercing blue-green eyes. I was in the midst of midterms and really had no time for this, but he was holding my new phone hostage and there was no one else at the counter. I reluctantly said yes and gave him the number to my dorm.

I drove back to campus like a madwoman. I had a coffee date with the most brilliant man I knew. I met Patrick in my writing class earlier that semester and had been in love ever since. He and I would talk for hours on end about our favorite books, authors, and music. He would blow my mind with his fascinating interpretations of Rilke, but balk at my defense of Steinbeck. He let me stand on my soapbox for Kahlil Gibran but would not be moved by my fixation with T.S. Eliot. The one thing we did agree on was The Beatles.

On the ride over to Starbucks he had Abbey Road playing in his car.

“Hey, what’s your favorite album?” he asked.

“The one you have on right now.”

“No way! I always thought this was their best work. My favorite song is this one.” He leaned towards me to change the track and the faint hint of Old Spice teased my nose. He forwarded to I Want You.

“Oh my god. This is the best one!” I exclaimed.

“I know right? People think it’s so simple, the bass line rocks back and forth, and the lyrics just repeat over and over, but it’s so much more complex than that. I can write a thesis just on this one song.”

Hey Patrick, I want you. I want YOU. There’s my thesis.

We arrived at the coffee shop hauling all our books. Not surprisingly neither of us opened a single one. I asked him how his pledgeship was going for Beta Chi Pi. I noticed that his knuckles were raw with little pieces of skin hanging off.

“You know I can’t talk about that,” he said, covering his hands. “Besides, you already know that rule! How’s pledging for the Alphas?”

“Ha, touché. I’m just tired all the time. Balancing school, activities, pledging, and then having my own social life is just killing me.”

“I know me too. It’s only for a couple more weeks. And then when we finish, we can party together at the formal when we cross over!”

Yes, that was my dream: to party with Patrick when we both got our letters. I hate to admit it, but he was the reason I was even pledging. I was never even remotely interested in Greek life, but I saw Patrick at the info night while I accompanied a friend and I knew this was the only way I could hang out with him and get him to fall madly in love with me. I would go to class everyday, then try to do as much homework as possible before being dragged off by the actives for some trust exercise that would keep me up till at least 2am. Sometimes I would come home wet, sometimes sore, but always fitfully exhausted. Then I was off to class again at 8am. I saw Patrick often at these events alright, but my body paid a heavy price for it.

“So… I bet you got a hot date lined up for Valentine’s Day,” he half-laughed.

“I wish. I’m helping the Alphas deliver roses for our fundraiser. It’s just so depressing to be surrounded by all those flowers on that day.”

“You never know, one of them might have your name on it,” he said, smiling with his warm hazel brown eyes.

We sipped coffee for the next 2 hours and I forgot about the untimely aqua moria of my phone; that is until Saturday night.

---

James, the cell phone hustler, came by my dorm promptly at 8pm. He cleaned up nice; he had on a blue button down and slacks. I had jeans and a tee and was completely underdressed. At dinner, I couldn’t help but be bored with him. Perhaps the most exciting piece of conversation was his confession of being a father. He went on and on about the pressures of fatherhood, grappling with this baby’s mama, and how and why I caught his eye. I would nod and smile and say two to three sentences where appropriate. There was no creativity in his game, no luster in his conversation. At the heart of it, this was a guy who ghetto-hollered at me and was only getting the time of day because of a cell phone.

He drove me back up the hill towards campus, exhibiting and explaining the powerful V8 hemi of his truck. I feigned wide-eyed interest as I slipped my new phone into my purse. Once on the grounds, he slowed down to abide by the traffic rules on the two-lane road. A grey civic behind us was tailing rather closely and didn’t appreciate James’ vigilance.

“This guy’s an asshole! He’s way too close to my car,” James said.

“Just leave it alone, we’re almost to my building,” I pleaded. I did not want to cause a scene at this hour.

“No. I’m going to teach these guys a lesson.”

We approached Sacred Heart Chapel, and James hit the brakes as he was rolling onto a speedbump. He shifted the car in neutral and revved his prized hemi. He put it in reverse and ever so slightly threatened to roll right onto the hood of that tiny civic. In terror, the civic beeped its horn frantically and began to back up slowly. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the driver put his hands up in surrender.

“Ha! That’ll teach him,” James said, satisfied. He looked at me with a sense of accomplishment and searched for my damsel in distress response.

I wanted to jump out of the car and make a mad dash to my dorm. This guy was severely unhinged and was going to take me down with him. James wanted to come in to my room and give me a proper goodnight but I fabricated a lie about an early morning study group. I did not want to have anything to do with him or his mania.

The following Monday I ran into Patrick on my way to class.

"Hey! How was the rest of your weekend?" I asked.

"It was alright," he yawned, "except there was this asshole on the road late the other night."

My heart stopped.

"Me and the guys, we were coming back from a pledge thing and this guy tried to run us over!"

I looked down and put my hand over my mouth. "Patrick. Light blue truck, extended cab, in front of the chapel?"

"How do you know- wait, THAT WAS YOU?!"

I cringed in shame.

"What the hell are you doing going out with a guy like that?"

Because you haven't asked me out. I tried to utter an apology but he cut me off.

"Look I have to go. I guess I'll see you later," he said disappointed. "The Betas have to help you guys with the fundraiser."

The remainder of the day I was trying to come up with an apology for Patrick. When I got to our table my pledge sisters were all smiling and staring at me.

"What?" I said.

"Look! You got a dozen roses!" one of them said.

"Who'd give me flowers??" I ripped open the envelope.

Who knows how long I've loved you, you know I love you still. Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to I will. - John, Paul, George, Ringo.

Flowers in hand, I looked up and searched for Patrick in the lunchtime crowd. He was sitting with the Betas and we locked eyes as I ran breathlessly towards him. The guys moved aside while I hugged fiercely.

"Thank you so much for the flowers! They're so beautiful! I didn't think I would get anything today."

Patrick pulled back and looked blankly at me.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he murmured.

"What? You didn't get me these?"

He looked at the flowers solemnly, shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slowly.

"No. Why would I get you flowers when you already have a boyfriend?"

Vday Vol 1: The Note

For most couples, Valentine's Day is a day to reaffirm the romance in the relationship. For me, it's the time of year I make an absolute fool of myself. In my twenty-some years, I have made an ass out of myself, more times than I'd like to admit and for some reason, always on this damned day. I present to you Vday Vol. 1.

Bored in music theory class, I wrote “jC saves,” all over my notebook. Sometimes with a heart, sometimes with a smiley face, but always with the hope that someday he’d notice me. His name was Jacob Cleff and his occupation was the sweet torture of drooling and adoring freshmen girls. (He also moonlighted as Prince Charming at nearby Disneyland in Anaheim, so this was quite literally his occupation.) Late one night during choir rehearsal, I looked up from my music and saw him for the very first time. The heavens parted, cherubs chanted, and I caught myself with my mouth wide open. Jacob was a beautiful mestizo; half white, half Puerto Rican, tall like a skyscraper, with a godlike physique. He held his music in his right hand and tapped his knee lightly to keep rhythm with the rest of the baritones. What’s this? A man who loved music? Like, real music? From that point on, I was hypnotized.

He would ride through campus on a lowrider bicycle. If I ever saw that black and silver bike outside the cafeteria, I was suddenly hungry. If I saw it outside the music department, I suddenly remembered that I left my notes in the common area. Whenever I saw him, we would lock eyes and would I timidly smile and walk on- but inside I was screaming holy hell. He never said a word to me, but his dark brown eyes unstitched me. As the year passed, what I thought was my personal secret crush, had suddenly become public knowledge. Jacob had been asking about me. And one day, I had my first real encounter with him.

It was late one night and I was walking across campus from the Filipino club meeting. Down the mall I saw Jacob chatting with some friends. I straightened up and walked nonchalantly by. He watched me walk past and rode his bike to catch up with me. I stopped in my tracks and he began circling his bike around me, like a shark surrounding its prey. I was nervous. Then it was just like out of a musical. Jacob started singing in his deep, resonating baritone voice:

The strands in your eyes color them wonderful, stop me and steal my breath.

Emeralds from mountains, thrust towards the sky, never revealing their depth.

He stopped his bike right in front of me, blocking my path. He had a devilish look in his eyes and leaning forward he nodded his head as if to say it was my turn to sing. Was he really singing Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be” right here in the middle of the quad? I looked around and shifted my weight, but he kept his eyes fixed on me. I continued on, singing softly:

Tell me, that we belong together. Dress it up with the trappings of love.

I’ll be captivated, I’ll hang from your lips, instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above.

I paused, waiting for him. Then he bellowed at the top of his lungs:

And I’ll be your crying shoulder. I’ll be love’s suicide. I’ll be, better when I’m older. I’ll be the greatest fan of your life.

What the hell just happened? He just kept staring at me. After the echo of his voice faded he finally spoke.

“I can’t believe you know that song”

“Why, you don’t?” I asked.

“No, I just learned it tonight. American Idol audition.”

This is why I was in love. I was in love with Prince Charming who was going to be the next American Idol.

“Oh yea, how did that go?” I asked.

“Ok, I think. There were a lot of people packed into that stadium."

He continued staring and I continued being shy.

“Are you going to Charity Ball?” he asked.

“Yea, I think so.”

“Ok. I’ll find you there.”

And just like that, he pedaled off into the night. I stood there, digesting what just transpired. It suddenly occurred to me that Jacob knew what he was doing. This was a professional at work. He was used to having girls fawning over him. Well I wasn’t just any girl. I would show him.

Valentines Day was only a week away and I already had an idea. What would trouble Prince Charming more than not knowing who was admiring him from afar? The torturer would soon become the torturee. That week, Jacob was acting in a play on campus. I scribbled something on a piece of paper and walked over to the theatre just as the curtain went up. One of the ushers greeted me at the door and I asked her to give the note to Jacob. I walked briskly away from the theatre, knowing full well that I was about to have the upper hand in this year long game of cat and mouse.

The next day, the music department was abuzz. Apparently, Jacob had been hocking around a piece of paper like a madman. He was asking everyone if they recognized the handwriting, or if anyone had been to see his play the night before. Needless to say, I laid low for the next couple days and let this quietly simmer in his head.

The night of Charity Ball I donned my lucky dress, hoping for what i don't know. I was just hoping not to make a fool of myself. I walked down to Sunken Garden and entered the enormous tent. I scanned the area and was easily able to find him in the crowd. He looked yummy in his dark suit. His tie already loosened from the dancing he had been doing. I conveniently walked by him pretending of course not to see him. He grabbed my hand and stole me away for a dance.

“You wrote that, didn’t you?”

“What?” I attempted the the best quizzical look in my eyes, while trying to stifle the giddy schoolgirl in me. Jacob Cleff was dancing with me.

“That poem, that was you, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I should have an Academy Award for this.

Just then he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read it aloud n the middle of the dancefloor. Others around us were curious and listening, but Jacob was not one to care what people thought. Twice now, I’d be subjected to this man’s honey voice:

Eyes ablaze under the adagio I sing and I write

A resounding top note for my love’s arresting height

A trill for the shivers his gaze commands

A smooth legato line from beginning to end - for the promise in his eyes and the kisses he sends

A slight staccato for the laughter we share

A cadence for his passion that leaves me without breath

A minute change to minor for the sorrow in our time apart

It is a melody, a lullaby, for the way he cradles my heart.

All the while, I tried to keep from smiling. As he read, I did my best to not burst out laughing. This man was tripping over something I wrote. He was tripping over the idea of someone besting him - and I got an absolute thrill out of it.

“Everyone knows you’re an English major. This has to be you.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not me.”

He stared again, as if he would break me and unlock the pleasures of the world. I held my ground. He finally let it go, but he and I both knew what the truth was: I was just a chickenshit.

Afterward, I regretted not telling him. Had I missed my chance with true love? I was just too scared to be rejected.

Months later, the choir took a tour of the Pacific Northwest. All tour long he tortured me with side glances and winks. I hated and loved him for it. On the last night of the tour we were invited to spend an evening at the Cleff household. Great. An evening at my crush’s home. This was just salt in the wound. Later that night, someone put on some music and we all started dancing. This was our last night on tour and I felt like this was my time to shine! I would steal Jacob’s heart with my stellar dance skills and confess that I’d written that poem and we’d hit it off! I took center stage of the floor and shook my hips along with the salsa music. Everyone was cheering me on, including Jacob, as i felt his eyes on me. I dipped low and rolled my body back up to do a booty roll, but then I heard a loud tearing sound.

I stood upright very quickly and walked backwards toward the wall. Everyone looked at me puzzled, wondering why I’d stopped. I backed away slowly and found the bathroom and to my horror, my jeans had split in two, right down the middle.

Do you know what the moral of this story is? If a guy is even remotely interested in you, let him know – otherwise you just end up with your ass on the line.