Every girl has her elementary school crushes. But MY crushes lasted far longer than any healthy crush should last – far far longer – more like borderline obsession (minus the borderline). Some marriages don’t last as long as my crushes lasted. And they were intense. There’d be crying into my pillow episodes, week long debates on if I should say hello to them, how I should say hello to them, when I should say hello to them…there were jealous episodes whenever any of these guys would even a glance at another girl at school. And glance they did. And there was analysis of every word uttered out their mouth to me. I had a very long awkward phase as an adolescent, complete with coke bottle glasses, braces, baby fat, low self esteem, and the list goes on. There was one common thread that ran through many of these mega crushes. That common thread was another female (the villainess(es) in my story) who scuppered my chances of taking any of these “relationships” to the next level. And I always allowed it to happen. To this day, I figure if a guy can get lured away that easily, then he’s not my guy and I release – quickly. And I stand by that rule. The first crush – we’ll call him “D”. So, I always picked the guy that ALL the other girls had crushes on too. This one was almost exaggerated, as the young ladies hovered around him like bees to honey. I did leave my mark though. Every stalker does (see Baby Reindeer on Netflix). In the case of D, he was one or two years older than me, but his younger sister was in my class, and we were good friends, or so I thought. There would be odd sleepover parties to which I was invited. I couldn’t tell whether it was D or his younger sister who invited me. Anyway, during these parties, we all slept in sleeping bags in D’s room, and we’d have nocturnal line ups to give him a kiss. It was almost ritualistic, in a creepy way. Yes! When I read this now, I get a bit nauseous, because it’s something that I would never ever do, and in fact, I’d probably harshly judge any girl who would do the same today. The next day, we’d have lox and bagels for breakfast. Sometimes it would only be me invited for a sleepover, and only me invited to breakfast. In the winter, we’d have snow ball fights in the back yard, and being tackled in the snow by D, I was in seventh heaven. This went on for a couple of years or more. Until one day, after school, I got a phone call from D’s sister. Their mother told her that she believed I was only friends with her because of D. Hmmmm? Was it true? Maybe it was? Maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t get a chance to answer before she told me that we cannot be friends anymore and never to call her again. That was that. I got over D eventually. And by the way, when I get over someone, it’s as if they never existed. It’s all or nothing. And when it’s nothing, it’s really NOTHING. The second boy, “S” was also attached to a villainous saboteur. S played the piano. He was also a brainiac. I had a thing for brainiacs back then. The higher the IQ, the harder I fell. Now I know much better. Some of the most intelligent men can be the biggest condescending assholes. Anyway, this guy also kinda liked me. He would come over for play dates. We’d watch TV together and he would play some tunes for me on our piano (we had an upright piano in our basement, because I used to take lessons, but that didn’t last). I swooned. So, S was also very friendly with a mutual friend of mine. Ironically, the D and the S boys’ villainesses had the same name! Little did I know the lengths to which girls would go to catch a boy. It was the polar opposite of a gold digger. The girl would be showering the boy with gold. “Gold” in this case, was a basement full of arcade games – pinball machines, PacMan, Donkey Kong, – I don’t know what these machine went for, but they were the real deal. The kinds of arcade games you’d find in a bowling alley. Well, this was enough to lure S into the spider’s web just about every weekend! Sometimes I’d be invited too, but then it was only S who was invited after I was slowly edged out. But then the “incident” happened, which raised the villainess’s jealousy level to Defcon 1. This event was my being invited to the PROM by S! Yup! He invited me to the prom. (Insert “I’m Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves here). The prom was nice – sweet – uneventful. The real drama would start the next morning – pretty early, my phone rang. No cell phones then. It was my land line. It was the Villainess on the other end. The tone of her voice was that of a criminal interrogator. And the questions started flying – “Did you have a good time?”, “Did you go out after?” “How late did you stay out?”, and of COURSE, “Did you kiss?” Actually, there was no making out involved. I was very inhibited then, and if there was a kiss, it may have been on the cheek. I hear girls today are giving BJ’s to boys on the yellow school bus. I guess, my answers did not sooth her green envious wounds. She finally asked in a very angry and self entitled tone, “Do you know WHY I’m asking these questions?” I naively responded, “No”. More questions. “Do you know WHY S always comes to my house every weekend?” I think I answered, “Cause he loves your arcade games?” That did not please her. She asked another. “Do you know WHY I invite S over every weekend?” I think I answered, “No. Not really.” That didn’t please one bit. She finally blurted out something to the effect of “I like him! I thought you knew that by now! So keep away from him!”. And again, I followed orders like a good soldier. Now, so many years later, I think to myself, what planet were these girls from where they believed they can claim a boy as their own? Did their parents teach them that? We don’t own anyone in this life. Years later I actually saw the little b*&^%ch outside our synagogue (when I used to go). She caught my eye, but she knew better than to approach me – I was waaaaay over it, and she would have received a very cold shower of a greeting had she tried. So, by college, my response to the proverbial villainess was a bit different, as in I paid no attention to the behavior. But what is amazing, is that the crazy behavior followed me. J was so cute. He was my first foray into the world of the “bad boys”. Not only was he smart, but he wore a black leather jacket, and had a bit of an edge to him. He also came from divorced parents and lived with his mom in the suburbs. I was living off campus with 2 female “friends”. That word “friend” is only reserved for real friends these days. “Real” does not always include Facebook friends and never includes fly-by-night or fraudulent friends. Anyway, it was 1986, the year that the sizzling erotic film 9 1/2 Weeks came out with Mickey Rourke, when he was hotter than hot and before his disfiguring plastic surgeries, and Kim Basinger (before her surgeries as well). J had invited the 3 females of our off-campus house to watch the film. There was instant chemistry between me and J and it was palpable in the air (to me anyway). The next day the phone rang at our house. The villainess answered the phone. Similar to the villainess in the previous story, and unbeknownst to me, she had a mad crush on J. She had gone to England with him on some study abroad program and had been holding a torch for him since then. I was in the other room, and I sensed he was on the phone, and I also sensed her excitement talking to him. She was sure the call was for her. Then there was a brief awkward silence, and then ominously, “Sharon. Pick up the phone. It’s J. And he wants to talk to YOU.” That was the beginning of one of many episodes that would eventually be the ruin of our “friendship.” I picked up the phone. The chemistry was palpable. J asked me out. We started dating, as the jealousy was quietly simmering, waiting for its’ assured bubbling boil. That boiling point arrived when I stayed over J’s house one weekend night. I came home the next morning. As I walked into our little house, there was she, in a black nightie, on the faux brown leather couch, feet perched up on the coffee table, glaring at me as I opened the door. My own MOTHER never did that to me. I think she had been sitting there all night, because it had to be around 8 in the morning – a weekend morning! And the questions began. “Where were YOU?” “You slept at his house?!” “So, are you two an item now?!” I was shocked. Again, somehow I was supposed to know that she had dibs on J and that I should have known to back off from her property immediately. Isn’t it funny that in all these stories, the guy has nothing to say in the matter? Many years later, I am not in touch with any of these people. I believe they’re all married. I am not (at least not at the writing of this post). Maybe subconsciously, my commitment phobia was showing its face early on.
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