Bear with me comrades, this story might be a little too long and boring for some of you. Brevity was never my thing.
Last year while working I met a girl who would later cease being a coworker but an intimate friend and lover. She had just turned 17 and I was 20 at the time, and while we initially went out on a date after acquainting ourselves with one another, nothing serious ever came from it and we remained close friends.
As time went on so did the guys who would come in the store. Not once did I ever bat my eyes at the thought of this, because, after all, we were merely friends.
After a particularly bad breakup with her boyfriend, I finally did my job and comforted her. All of those caged feelings and the ambivalence we felt about our relationship all disappeared, and soon enough I was captivated by her charm and striking looks. At that point I only saw her as a friend, a failed date whom I felt I had alienated that auspicious night - what would could she possibly see in me?
Now, I'll be frank, here: we fucked over one another big time. I wracked up impressive ticket fines ferrying her to and fro, and there were a number of incidents where she made me feel like utter shit, but in the end I hit her in her pocket, and I still can't forgive myself. She is a single mother, and when our casual relationship was on the verge of becoming an unbridgeable chasm, I kept 200 dollars that she left in my car and treated two close friends and myself to a night on the town.
While this act was morally reprehensible and my regret knows no boundaries, you have to understand that this girl hurt me deeply. When I was the one being accosted by the sheriff trying to help her make amends with her ex-boyfriend, she didn't say a single word to me. No thank you, no sorry, none of that...my rage was infinite in its intensity and by all means justified. I lashed out in ways I shouldn't have, but my heart was cheated.
When things crashed and burned it took her an astounding two days to find another whom she deeply loved. To offer some clarity, it was an interesting parallel to the short story White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky in that I sacrificed my claim to her heart to allow her to be happy. Initially I could not bear to see her happy; I ultimately accepted it.
I ended up quitting my job, gave the keys to my car to my mother, and it is because of her that I am backpacking this summer. In order to deal with the guilt I had to live vicariously through her. I wanted to be her intimate friend...not one who merely seeks the flesh but one who wants to see what is ticking behind her cool facade. I gave her my heart - everything! - and she didn't care about the despair or the feelings of utter annihilation I felt were beyond the horizon...
Just what is wrong with me? Why do I want to be her friend when the only tears she shed for me was when I called her a bitch?
To put it simply, Jeffrey Lee Pierce offers a concise description in half the time it would take to read that bullshit:
Last year while working I met a girl who would later cease being a coworker but an intimate friend and lover. She had just turned 17 and I was 20 at the time, and while we initially went out on a date after acquainting ourselves with one another, nothing serious ever came from it and we remained close friends.
As time went on so did the guys who would come in the store. Not once did I ever bat my eyes at the thought of this, because, after all, we were merely friends.
After a particularly bad breakup with her boyfriend, I finally did my job and comforted her. All of those caged feelings and the ambivalence we felt about our relationship all disappeared, and soon enough I was captivated by her charm and striking looks. At that point I only saw her as a friend, a failed date whom I felt I had alienated that auspicious night - what would could she possibly see in me?
Now, I'll be frank, here: we fucked over one another big time. I wracked up impressive ticket fines ferrying her to and fro, and there were a number of incidents where she made me feel like utter shit, but in the end I hit her in her pocket, and I still can't forgive myself. She is a single mother, and when our casual relationship was on the verge of becoming an unbridgeable chasm, I kept 200 dollars that she left in my car and treated two close friends and myself to a night on the town.
While this act was morally reprehensible and my regret knows no boundaries, you have to understand that this girl hurt me deeply. When I was the one being accosted by the sheriff trying to help her make amends with her ex-boyfriend, she didn't say a single word to me. No thank you, no sorry, none of that...my rage was infinite in its intensity and by all means justified. I lashed out in ways I shouldn't have, but my heart was cheated.
When things crashed and burned it took her an astounding two days to find another whom she deeply loved. To offer some clarity, it was an interesting parallel to the short story White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky in that I sacrificed my claim to her heart to allow her to be happy. Initially I could not bear to see her happy; I ultimately accepted it.
I ended up quitting my job, gave the keys to my car to my mother, and it is because of her that I am backpacking this summer. In order to deal with the guilt I had to live vicariously through her. I wanted to be her intimate friend...not one who merely seeks the flesh but one who wants to see what is ticking behind her cool facade. I gave her my heart - everything! - and she didn't care about the despair or the feelings of utter annihilation I felt were beyond the horizon...
Just what is wrong with me? Why do I want to be her friend when the only tears she shed for me was when I called her a bitch?
To put it simply, Jeffrey Lee Pierce offers a concise description in half the time it would take to read that bullshit:
