Okay, we all do stupid things in our lives. Especially in our relationships. I’m sure everyone can look back on some wrong committed in a relationship and shudder. And then you file it in the back of your brain and leave it there, hoping it will get lost and fade away. Well screw it. I’m pulling out my shameful file and posting it. Let me tell you about the worst thing I’ve ever done…It was a relationship I had during college with a guy named Chris, who would eventually become one of my stalkers. But that’s another story... Chris and I are dating for a few months, and we become attached pretty quickly. Scarily, obsessively attached. Well, he is anyway. I’m just enthusiastic because he’s a nice dresser, he's got a great car, he knows how to dance and he holds the doors open for me, for old ladies, for squirrels and chipmunks too.
We are having a little spat. I can’t recall what it’s about. All I know is that it starts to become irrational. There is no sense in continuing an argument with an irrational person. You just have to walk away and resume the discussion when both parties are calm and in a better frame of mind. IMHO.
So I declare, “That’s it. I’m going home. I’ll call you later.”
Chris subscribes to a different approach, called Never Leave Until It’s Settled.
So he says, “Oh no you don’t! You’re not going anywhere until we work this out!”
“Uh, this isn’t going to be worked out right now, because you are a crazed lunatic and I’m leaving.”
“No you’re not!” he says.
“Yes I am!” I am grabbing my purse and heading out of his bedroom.
He leaps from the couch and positions himself in the doorframe like Vitruvian Man. This is supposed to block my exit. I duck under his arm and head for the stairs. Again, he dives in front of me and tries to block my escape. Again, I duck under his arm, then I run up the stairs like a gazelle being pursued across the veldt. He is chasing me, yelling, “No! You can’t leave! We have to work this out!” But by now I’m out the front door and in my car. I’m locking the door and rolling up the window as fast as I can. And then immediately doing the same on the other side of the car as he tries desperately to get in.
“Open the door!”
“No!”
“You can’t leave!”
“I have to get the hell away from you!”
Now he’s standing in front of my orange Vega hatchback. He’s blocking the driveway. I start the car.
“I’m not moving. You have to stay and finish this.”
“I’m already finished with this.”
“I’m not letting you go.”
I shift the car into drive and I slowly roll up to where he is. I’m not even applying the gas; I’ve merely removed my foot from the brake and I’m rolling. He adjusts his stance as he attempts the Herculean feat of holding back my car. I continue rolling forward.
“Get out of my way.”
“No! I’m not letting you go!”
He is backing up as he tries to halt the car. I can see the veins popping out of his head as he strains to keep me from moving. I do not stop. Since the driveway is a steep hill, I have to gently apply the gas to continue. It is taking every ounce of patience in my body not to mow him down. I think I hate him. He is shuffling backwards faster now as I begin to accelerate, but he’s still attempting to keep me there through the sheer force of his manly power. Finally, he gives up and does the only thing he can do. He jumps up on my hood.
“Get off!”
“No!”
“Well I’m not stopping!”
I continue driving up the hill to the road. It’s about 11:30 at night now, and there’s no traffic on Jean Drive. Good thing, too, because now I’m driving down this winding back road with a man on the hood of my car. I decide to stop and give him one more chance. I feel that I am dangerously close to blowing an O ring if I can’t get the hell away from this idiot.
“Chris, listen to me. Get off of my car. I hate you and I’m going home.”
“No! You have to stay and talk to me!”
“Get off!”
“NO!”
I floor it. He is gripping onto the hood for dear life. I’ve seen spiders do this quite well, their little bodies blowing in the ever-increasing wind as little spider feet (do spiders have feet?) stay firmly planted on the windshield. But I've never had the pleasure of seeing this act performed by a dumb-ass soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. I feel like I’m going to go insane if I can’t get away from deranged human being. I’ve got the car up to about 40 mph now. And I do the only thing I can do: I slam on the brakes. This sends him careening onto the roadway. But Spiderman doesn't even need a stunt-double. He executes perfect tuck-and-roll form! Then he grabs his leg and starts writhing in pain. “Help me! Help me! I think it’s broken!” I know he’s faking. I drive around him and go home.
I know I probably sound like a callous bitch at this point, but hold tight. That’s not even the end of the story.
I live across town. 45 minutes later, the doorbell rings. I turn on the light to see who’s out there. It’s Chris.
“Hon, I ran all the way over here. We have to talk.”
“We are not talking tonight. Leave or I will call the police.”
“Can you at least give me a ride home?”
Yeah right. All that work to get away from him, and he wants me to drive him back home. Not a chance.
“Go away.”
I turn off the light and go to bed.
NOW maybe I’m a callous bitch.
He’s probably still in love with me. I hope so...
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