Flashback Friday: My Ugly, Love-less Triangle

Shortly after my 17th birthday, I cheated on my boyfriend of six months. In a very public and embarrassing way.

I was in my second semester of my freshman year in college and he, thanks to my skillful forging of his high school transcripts so he would be accepted, came along for the ride. The only problem was: I spent a lot of time that semester riding someone else. Crass, but true.

My high school boyfriend was cool: he drove a '78 Cutlas, looked kind of like Duane Martin, had a great sense of humor and was probably one of the nicest guys I've ever known. He was never disrespectful - cuz his momma taught him that. He was generous to a fault, would bend over backward for me and had no problem carting my no driver's license having ass any where I'd ask.

I knew early on in our relationship he wasn't the one - is there even such a thing? We honestly had nothing in common save for a love for freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and NBA basketball. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to break up with him. I mean, who dumps a nice guy?

Not me. Nooo. Instead, I cheat on him. Embarrass him in front of...basically the entire campus at an HBCU.

The cheating isn't the worst part: it's who I cheated with. And how I cheated.

I basically carried on a public relationship with RJ, a 21 year old student, who'd been at the school two and a half years yet somehow had only amassed six credit hours. RJ wasn't smart. He wasn't even fyne. He had an S-curl. And was about five pounds away from the chubby list.* Folks couldn't understand it.

But: RJ made me laugh. He was a sharp dresser, never in jeans,always fly. He could cook and would do so for me often. And he introduced me to his friends: older students, who loved to pontificate over wine and games of spades and who broadened my horizons and opened my still very young mind.

I was so sprung, I actually went with him for a weekend to his hometown to visit his mother, leaving my boyfriend on campus, wondering where I'd went. He even came to visit me at home during a long weekend off from school. It didn't take long for things to get sticky. My boyfriend would get teased by his boys and he and I would argue. One night, RJ found his car spray painted and his windows busted. I'm pretty sure the boyfriend did it, but he denied it (I actually confronted him about it).

In the midst of all of this drama with the boyfriend (and yes, I realize I created the drama), tensions began to develop between RJ and I. You see, he was hurting. He'd recently lost his brother and hadn't moved on from the loss. He was depressed. And his depression manifested itself as neediness. He clung to our 'relationship' in the most desperate of ways, fighting with me for spending time with my boyfriend, declaring that I could save him from himself. Lest you think I am being egotistical, he actually said to me once, after I questioned him about his dismal grades "I could do better in school if you were officially with me". Mkay.

So there I was: stuck in the middle of two very needy men who allowed me to walk all over them. I wasn't happy.

Channeling Ms. Winfrey, this is what I know for sure: I didn't have feelings for RJ. Quite the opposite: his lackluster approach to school irritated me and his clingy behavior was a huge turn off (so much so, I made out with his boy one night, in the hallway outside his (RJ's) apartment, just to make him mad). I realize now that I really, really liked his circle of friends. I wanted to be part of a group that I perceived as being on the move: doing things, thinking things, making things happen. My boyfriend's friends weren't like that and the girls in the dorm just weren't cool. I felt alone and found entry into the 'cool clique' with a guy I would not have normally given the time of day to.

Even though I wasn't in love with the boyfriend, I couldn't break up with him. After all, I was the one who convinced him to go to college. I felt responsible to see him through. Besides, he'd gotten arrested for me. I owed him. I had no obligations to RJ so I made up my mind, at the end of the semester, to break up with him.

As fate would have it, I didn't have to: he flunked out. He left campus at the end of the semester and never returned. He called me at home during the breaks and in the dorm when I was back on campus, but I never answered. I screened my calls back then. I still do.

I ended up staying with the boyfriend for another four years - about three years longer than I should have. He forgave my transgression. I couldn't just up and leave him. Right?

As I moved forward, thinking about my life's plans, I finally found the courage to force a separation. The courage came in the form of a new guy. I'd met a 33 year old who was sexy. And educated. I was 21 and impressed. It would make me two years to find out he was an a$hole and that I was still searching, but that was a lesson I was meant to learn.

I wasn't going to cheat so I knew I had to end the five year journey with the boyfriend. He, however, had other things on his mind: marriage. He proposed, I broke up with him. He cried. I sat there staring at the wall.

I am not proud of this chapter in my life. But it's just that: a chapter. I lived through it. And I learned some lessons. I have not cheated on a boyfriend since. And I have been conscious of not dragging relationships out long past their expiration dates". **

Sometimes, we do things that are completely out of character for us. This particular experience taught me to slow down and ask myself "what's up? what are you really trying to do?" when I go against my basic nature. I now try to figure out what motivates my actions before I hurt someone or make a fool of myself. I suggest that everyone do the same.


*His belly didn't cover his schlong, so I was okay with him being a few pounds over weight.

**It would take me two years of living with and being engaged to the 33 year old to realize that, if you aren't feeling anything after six months, you should do everyone a favor and bounce.

Flashback Friday: I once was an asshole

For all the lessons I've learned in life, some of the most important ones seem to have been taught to me in the muddled, oft confusing classroom that is a relationship. Flashback Friday is my way of looking back at the knowledge that was dropped and the, sometimes unknowing, teachers who brought it.

New Years Eve, 1999. Like most, I was beyond excited for 2000 to make its appearance. The new millennium! What would it bring? If I had known that, on that night, I was going to do one of the things I am most embarrassed about in my life, I would not have looked forward to it so.

At the time I was dating a 34 year old, a man 12 years my senior. We lived together and he wanted to get married. In fact, just three months prior to NYE, he got down on one knee and proposed with a 1.5 ct. ring he designed himself.*

I was on the fence. Honestly, I thought the guy was hot. And fun, when we weren't arguing which, ironically, became the norm after the proposal. But marriage? I was too young. Had too many dreams. And I just didn't think love lived in his one bedroom Uptown condo.

Fast forward to the night's festivities: I looked good. No need to describe what I had on, just trust that it was fierce. I am in the duplex condo of some uppity couple we didn't know, drinking glass after glass of white wine, munching on strawberries. It didn't take long for me to get drunk.

My man, pissy at me b/c he thought my dress was too short, had spent most of the evening glaring at me from a corner while I chatted up the male cousin of a woman I worked with. My guy came around just in time for a midnight kiss, unsuspecting of the complete and utter asshole-ish, trife hoe-ish behavior that I was about to exhibit.

Brace yourselves.

In case you didn't know, NYE in Chicago is crazy. It ain't safe to drive and catching a cab is next to impossible. We ended up car pooling with my co-worker, her hubby and her cousin (who wasn't even that hot). I ended up in the back seat...sitting next to the cousin...while my guy, the tallest in the pack, sat in the passenger seat.

I was so drunk that I passed out...with my hand in the crotch of my co-workers cousin. And my hand wasn't resting idly; I was giving him a hand job, through his slacks. I have no idea what he was thinking: I don't remember him moving my hand. He simply covered it with his tuxedo jacket, hoping no one would notice.

But they did notice. Everyone was just too polite and well-bred to say anything.

When we get home, my boyfriend/fiance lights into me. And rightfully so. I was beyond disrespectful. We ended up arguing so loudly the neighbors came down to ask if every thing was OK. The argument ended when I had to rush to pay homage to the porcelain gods. I spent the night, literally, passed out in the tub. Fully dressed.

Reflection is a mutha.

As I mentally revisit the night's events, I am okay with saying that I wasn't that drunk. The fact that I remember so many details is proof of that. Subconsciously, I guess I wanted to act a fool so I could get dumped. I was too immature to tell this man I wasn't ready for all that he wanted and, instead, I used alcohol as an escape mechanism.

Little did I know.

Not only did he NOT dump me, he announced to me that he forgave me and that he wanted to move forward with the wedding plans. It took me another six months to finally step outside of that relationship.

When I finally was ready to bail, I woke up that morning and went apartment hunting. I came home that evening, told him I'd found a place to move and was leaving in a week. He was shocked, angry and hurt. I was relieved. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

He spent the next six months pursuing me, trying to convince me we should get back together.

I learned quite a bit during this two-year relationship, but this particular drama taught me that honesty is the only thing that can set you free, that you should never allow someone to get too deep if you aren't feeling the same way and that nothing good comes from drinking heavily when you are unhappy.

In case you were wondering...

My ex: he's married now, with two children. I am good friends with his younger sister.
The woman I worked with, her husband and cousin: I never heard from them after that night.
Me: a work in progress.


*I gave the ring back.