Jordan

Jordan and I met my freshman year of high school when he was a sophomore.  We met through a mutual friend, Sarah, who went to grade school with him.  I had a teeny, tiny crush on him the first day we met.  I’ll admit it.  

We would talk whenever we were in the cafeteria at the same time, we’d hang out after school or at basketball games after I was done performing with the dance team at half time, and finally, when I was a junior and he was a senior, we had a class together.  

He sat in front of me, and this guy Dave (also a senior) sat behind me.  Dave would always think he’d be whispering things to me, when really everyone around him could hear.  He’d say some really dirty things he wanted to do with me after school, and I either just sat there and laughed at him or turned around and said, “Seriously, shut the f**k up!”

One Thursday Dave kept telling me he and a few friends were going camping and he’d love it if I would come too.  It’d be the best first date ever.  I said, “I really don’t think you’re interested in actually dating me.”  He kept telling me that I was too special to just use for sex, and I kept laughing at him.  He said camping would be amazing, they’d bring a ton of alcohol and we could have our own tent and separate sleeping bags, so I didn’t have to worry about anything like that.  Meanwhile, Jordan would constantly hear these conversations and shake his head.  I always said no to whatever Dave offered.  Part of me really did want to at least make out with him, but I knew I’d be just another girl to him, so I never did.   

One night, after a basketball game I was hanging out with Stephanie, Jordan, and this guy Mike.  We had been just talking and walking around the football field.  When we were headed back to our cars, Jordan mentioned something about running and hurdling over this picket fence that was a little higher than his waist (Jordan is about six feet tall).  I said there was no way he would be able to do it without falling because he has two bad knees from playing hockey.  We made a bet.  If he fell, I got $10.  If he made it successfully, I had to flash him and Mike.  We shook on it.  I lost.  I had to flash them.

By this time, I had a huge crush on Jordan.  We were becoming closer friends and I liked being close with him.  He was really cute, tall, played hockey, went hunting, dressed nice, he was a real guy’s guy, if you will.  I said, “Wait, I really have to flash both of you?  Can’t one of you just describe it to the other?”
“You don’t have to like, stand there with your shirt up, just for a few seconds,” said Mike.
“Yeah, but to both of you for a few seconds?”
“Why did you agree to the bet then?” Mike asked.
“Why does anybody agree to a bet?  I was confident I’d win and wouldn’t have to do this,” I nervously replied.
“It’s nice to know you have no faith in my jumping skills.  But, since I’m such a nice guy, I won’t make you flash us,” Jordan said.
“I’m not scared to or anything,” I lied, “I’m just a little shy I guess.”
“Just show us one!” Mike said.  

I conceded and I showed them only one boob, the right one to be exact. 

After Jordan graduated he went to college in town and got an apartment with two of his close friends.  Stephanie and I went over to the apartment to hang out with them sometimes, they always had beer.  One night, I made out with Jordan’s good friend while he made out with Stephanie.  I was a little hurt that he chose her to make out with, but I guess he could have said the same thing, right?

That was the last time I saw Jordan.  We kept in contact talking and texting, but his girlfriend-turned-fiancé somehow prevented us from hanging out.  So all we had were the times he was at the fire station (yep, he was a firefighter, how hot is that?) and able to talk to me.  We’d go a few weeks or a month without talking, and then catch up in one, long phone conversation lasting hours.

Maybe I’d forget about him sometimes during those few weeks, but every time my phone rang and his name popped up my heart started pounding.  Not necessarily because of the feelings I had for him, but I was so excited to have my friend back, even if it was only for a night.

My First Boyfriend

My first boyfriend’s name was Justin.  We were sophomores in high school, 15-years-old, and I don’t really know why we started dating.  I was taking an introductory photography class and he was also in photography, but at a different time in the day.  We met in the dark room once after school, where he complimented me on one of my developing pictures.

I was flattered, but I didn’t think anything of it.  I hung the picture to dry and started working on another one.  I wasn’t good at multi-tasking in the dark room yet, and I was always nervous about pictures turning out right, so at that point I would only work on one at a time (I later ended up taking the advanced photography class, where multi-tasking became my specialty, thank you very much). 

Anyway, Justin was cute, and another day in the dark room he said, “So, you’re on the dance team aren’t you?”
“Yep,” I replied with a smile.  I loved being on the dance team, because dancing was, and still is, my favorite thing.
“So, since you’re on the dance team, I take it you’d never go out with a guy like me.”
“And what kind of guy are you?”
“I don’t know.  Just seems like I’m not your type.”
“Well, I don’t really know you very well, so I don’t know if you’re my type or not," I said, trying not to smile at how witty I thought I was being.

Truth is, I didn’t really have a type, so I had no idea if he was it or not.  We went for a walk after my pictures were all hung to dry, smoked some cigarettes, and talked.  We decided he could be my type and I could be his, even though the high school social divide was there.  Not many girls on the dance team would date guys with jet black mohawks, and vice-versa.  Justin asked me out while we were smoking cigarettes on the bleachers and holding hands.

We dated for three weeks.  It was a friendly and mutual break up.  We both liked other people, it wasn’t dramatic because we didn’t really fool around very much so there was no heartbreak over sex, and one day he intended to talk to me about the situation, I just brought it up first.

“Do you think this is going to be a long-term kind of thing?” I asked.
“I don’t know, why?”
“Well, I was just thinking about it, and we seem to be more like friends than a couple, and I’m fine with that, but if that’s the case maybe we should just be friends.”
“That’s fine with me, I was thinking the same thing.”

We hugged, kissed, and I closed my locker and went to class.  We managed to do all this within the four minutes you’re allowed between classes, and I walked in and took my assigned seat behind my new crush: Tommy.

I had later told my friend, Jordan (you’ll hear more about him later), about Justin and I.  He asked if I liked someone new, and I said yes but wouldn’t tell him who it was.  I know he’d make fun of me, no matter who it was.

Justin and I remained friends until he went to a different school and we lost contact.  At an event where student bands perform original songs, I saw him again.  That time, we were both seniors and I had just broken up with another boyfriend.  He didn’t have the mohawk anymore, but he was still a punk rock guy.  We hugged and briefly caught up.  I realized he was drunk.  He asked if he could talk to me privately, I said sure, and we ended up in the guys’ bathroom.

He pulled me into a stall with him and locked it behind me.  It all happened so fast that I didn't realize what his intentions probably were.  He said, “I’ve missed you,” and started kissing my neck.  I said, “Justin, stop, you’re drunk.”
“That doesn’t mean I haven’t missed you.”
“We dated for like three weeks almost two years ago, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Let’s just have fun,” he said, and started kissing me as I was lightly pushing him away.
“Let’s not do anything we’ll regret,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Trust me, I won’t regret this,” he said, smiling and pulling at my shirt.

OK, this just got 10 times more uncomfortable.  I kept trying to reach behind me and unlock the door, because if I could just do that, I could push him really quick and get out.  I had enough gossip flying around about me (some things I wish were true, some I wish weren't true, but I'll probably never tell which is which!), the last thing I needed was to have someone walk in the bathroom and think I was in the stall doing it with someone.

I heard the door open and someone walked in and must have heard us arguing.  The person asked, “Is everything OK in there?"

"Oh!  Jordan!  Is that you?"
“Emma?”

I quickly unlocked the door, somehow, with two people and a toilet shoved into a stall I managed to open it with lightning speed, and started fixing my shirt and said, “Jordan, please trust me, it’s really not what it looks like.”
“You don’t have to answer to me,” Jordan said.  He was a year older and already graduated, but he had a few friends still in these student bands so he came to support them.
“Well, I don’t want you to think I’m slutty or something,” I said, because that’s the last thing I needed.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said as he put his arm around me and we walked out, leaving Justin drunk and confused.  I later heard he puked and got kicked out of the event.  That was the last time I ever talked to Justin, and about the millionth time Jordan had rescued me from an uncomfortable situation.