Ghosts of Relationships Past - Part 4

Purple Paisley Guy

My freshman year of high school had gotten off to a rocky start. Lee had been a total jerk and successfully jaded my perspective of the opposite sex. So, when in deep despair, what else do you do? Road Trip!

Throughout high school, I participated in all sorts of dramatic arts. Not just the kind in my personal life, but the kind you can actually put on a high school transcript with which to impress college admissions offices. One group in particular that I especially enjoyed was the forensics team. We would travel around to different speech competitions and show off our public speaking prowess. I competed in a couple of different categories, but original oratory was my favorite. Imagine my surprise when I made my way to my competition room and I saw someone, other than the category judges, who made my stomach swell with butterflies!

He sat on the floor at the end of the hallway and as our eyes met, time stopped. I don't know what captured my attention first. His wavy dark hair, his chiseled face or the beautiful purple paisley shirt that he wore. I couldn't take my eyes off of him! I snapped out of the haze just in time to realize that I was about to be late for my round and so I turned and prayed that he would be there when I was finished.

I totally screwed up my speech, but I didn't care. My mission now was to find. this. boy. I couldn't wait to find my friends who traveled with me and enlighten them about this vision that I saw in the hallway! Oh, where was he? He's not there! Was it all a dream? Was my adolescent angst playing a cruel trick on me? And then, I felt a tap on the shoulder.

I turned and there he stood. Knees don't fail me now! "Hi", he said in the softest, velvety voice. "Hi." Wow, how original of me. "Are you from around here?", he questioned. "No." Ok, Angie, you're going to have to do better than 1-word answers if you want to captivate him with your winning personality. "What's your name?", he asked with this Cheshire-type grin that just melted what was left of my heart. "Angela." Ok, did I really just say that? Yep, I just told him my name was Angela. Huh?

And so, this weekend romance, that steamed up pretty quickly (when we weren't each in competitions), was all started with a big fat lie. Ok, I really shouldn't say a lie, because yes, the name on my birth certificate does say Angela, but NO ONE (not even my parents) calls me Angela. He is, was and will be the ONLY guy that I've ever dated that called me the one name that I hate to be called. And I didn't care.

That weekend was full of lots of kisses and music. That was one thing that really tied us together. We both LOVED all genres of music and we talked a lot about it. When I had to leave to return home, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers and promised to stay in touch. We both shed tears and I couldn't believe that this guy who I had such a strong connection with, lived hours away. I was being punished. The dating gods were having a field day with this one!

A couple of weeks passed and despite my best efforts, I couldn't get the purple paisley guy out of my mind. I kept reliving the moment we met, over and over in my mind. And then, I was rescued from the brink of insanity by a knock at my bedroom door.

{to be continued}