venturing backward: feelings of fear (written December 11, 2014)

a post from my old blog “venturing backward”

We spent a lot of time in my blue Chevy Impala that winter.

Brushing snow off the windshield, I would see Renee sitting in the passenger seat with the heat on. She’d be wearing that sparkly, silver heart necklace I bought her.

Driving, I’d have the Gladiator soundtrack blaring on the speakers. Sometimes Renee would switch to the radio, trying to find Kanye West’s Gold Digger so we could turn it up while we drove around. I loved how she would sing along and dance to that song in the passenger seat.

Now and then I’d play something softer like Sigur Ros. Our clasped hands rested over the cup-holders; the headlights illuminated the chunks of snow falling on the road before us.

Music playing and hands touching, we might be driving eastward on Tienken late at night. We might be passing entrance after entrance into various subdivisions. And then I might finally turn left into one. I might park the car in front of some trees so we could make out for a while.

That wasn’t without inconvenience. A police officer had pulled up behind us in November. He came to my window. He examined our identifications. He asked if there was weed in the car. He shrugged when we said no. And then he drove away to perform other Rochester policeman duties.

I had told my Uncle Jeff that story without mentioning any kissing. His immediate reaction was to suggest someone had called the police to tell them “two teenagers are necking in the road.”

I laughed nervously and looked away when he said that.

Uncle Jeff was always one of my favorite people, and now I felt lucky that he was mostly right. That I had a girl like her, with whom I could drive around the whole big universe of Rochester. From the Musson playground to the Brewster playground, from Adams Road to Rochester Road, from CVS to Target, from my basement to the high school.

And so I had the patience to earn these moments in the car. I picked her up from voice lessons on countless afternoons. Her lesson always ended around 5, when traffic down Adams was at its worst. I’d sit in the line of cars without complaining too much. Because I was waiting to hold her hand, and that was worth it.

If I needed to get something at Target, I’d call her to come along. And her companionship there was enough for me to be happy. If I wanted to go look at books at Barnes & Noble, or stroll through the CD aisles at Best Buy, she could come with me. And her presence made things nicer.

Sometimes, I’d drive us to pick up friends like Lindsay, Kevin, or Sarah so we could go eat at Max & Erma’s and get ice cream at Maggie Moo’s together.

And no one questioned that shotgun belonged to Renee. With up to three friends crammed into the back, we could hold hands in the front. We’d switch the music between Death Cab for Cutie and the Gladiatorsoundtrack and Gold Digger.

We turned around one night for a picture. With me in the driver's seat and Renee as the passenger, we leaned inwards and our cheeks pressed against one another's faces. I smiled at the camera; Renee made an adorable look with her eyes up toward the ceiling. People thought we were cute.

After dropping our friends off, we could have alone time. Death Cab’s I Will Follow You into the Dark might start playing. Through lyrics about a couple exploring the planet and even the afterlife together, I could imagine an eternal adventurous future with Renee.

Eventually, rehearsals began for the spring musical – 42^ndStreet. I would pull into the pick-up loop when practice ended. Listening to news stations on XM, I’d wait for her to come out of the high school.

Emerging from Adams, she’d get into the car and I’d bring up some political issue that bothered me. Usually from a center-right perspective, which was a point of view we shared. Just as we both shared a strong belief in God.

We sat next to each other in Mr. Shaltz’s philosophy class that semester. My comfort and security with her as my girlfriend had advanced to the point where I no longer worried so often. I didn’t think she was on the verge of dumping me anymore. I felt comfortable blurting out the most ridiculous ideas in class discussions, even with her right there.

42^nd Street performed. I went with Graham. We sat in a corner in the front row so we could see everything. And so we could try making awkward eye contact with friends while they performed.

Graham and I waited in the hallway for all the performers to come out. There were crowds of parents and students greeting friends as they emerged from backstage – hugging them and congratulating them, taking pictures with them.

Renee emerged wearing her make-up and costume. She was holding flowers I’d bought to send backstage.

But I was afraid because I was going to East Lansing and she was staying in Rochester. I was so frightened by this that I almost hadn’t even bought her any flowers for her performance.

Senior year was fading into oblivion.

Once the musical was over around the beginning of April, I hung out a lot more with other 12^thgraders like Jess and Kate and Amy. They didn’t have to be so absorbed in rehearsals and the insular, theater-kid universe anymore.

We’d have nights together around the swings at Musson Elementary School. Chockley would often show up a bit late from some other rendezvous. He’d be fresh out of the Adams & Walton Caribou, drinking iced tea through one of their green straws. He’d light up a cigarette in the parking lot or on the playground.

We’d all go back to my basement and sit on the couches. Jess would fall asleep on the rocking chair while the rest of us stayed up chatting. Chockley would set his finished iced tea down on the table and leave it there. So as time went on I’d find empty, plastic Caribou cups all over the basement.

One Saturday night, we talked about Michigan State. Most of my friends weren’t going to be joining me there, but Kate was. She said she was excited to be a student at James Madison College, and I asked her about it.

She told me about the different majors there. I thought International Relations sounded pretty cool and figured I should give it a shot. She told me I would probably have to be on the waitlist because you needed to apply in the fall.

So that Monday, I called James Madison College and asked to be on the waitlist. A couple weeks later, in April, they sent me a letter accepting me.

That was exciting. But all this thinking about the future left me worried about how things would change with Renee.

I thought we had to end soon. I thought the circumstances of impending long-distance demanded it. I was sure she’d find someone else once I was far away at Michigan State. I was the guy who had hesitated to buy her flowers at the musical – simply because of scary, make-believe images of a bleak future.

Convinced of this, I told her in April that we’d need to break up when the school year ended. I thought there was nothing to be done; the hour and a half drive was bound to ruin everything.

I’d still never even been to East Lansing. It was a foreign, alien world, far removed from this one.

I’d listen to Death Cab’s Transatlanticism song and think with sadness about our doomed distance relationship. For me, it was just as if the whole Atlantic was coming between us. I need you so much closer echoed through my brain and I applied it to her.

I listened to songs like Run by Snow Patrol as if prophets had written them. They were songs about relationships ending tragically. About relationships ending just because they had to – often for a vague, undefined reason. And I thought that these songs described reality.

So we were going to break up at the end of May. It was a decision that left us both crying together when we came to it, but what could be done? What other decision could be made in the circumstances?

We cuddled on the couch in my basement. We hugged each other tightly. We were both depressed by the death sentence that Snow Patrol and Death Cab for Cutie had given us.

And with our expiration date approaching, I was jealous.

In May, Renee was going to be in a play for Rochester Adams High School’s Dessert Theater. It was an event at which students directed their own performances.

There was a chance she might have to kiss the other actor, Manny, on the lips. I heard Manny talking about how he was going to kiss Renee and about how great it was going to be. Once Manny walked right up to me and laughed in my face because he was going to kiss Renee.

Maybe it was just a good friendly joke on his part.

But the idea of her kissing this fucker, even in a fictitious theatrical performance, became unbearable. I would never be able to watch that passively from a seat in the auditorium.

I didn’t tell her I was insecure about him in particular. That was too embarrassing.

But I told her that if she kissed someone else during the play, even to satisfy the demands of the script, I would consider it as the equivalent of cheating on me.

And that pronouncement came around the same time I told her we were breaking up at the end of the month anyway.

Once I was far away at Michigan State, I knew that the 11th grade boys like this guy would still be around. They’d be crushing on Renee. They could see how stupefyingly beautiful she was; they would want to date her and kiss her and shit.

Renee would have options, and what if she didn’t choose me over the alternatives? What if I was so far away that she forgot about me?

I sat in the auditorium watching her perform in her play. She didn’t kiss him; that was edited out. But she was perfectly composed in the execution of her modified role.

I watched her walk across the stage. She had this sad, melancholic look on her face at one point. I thought about how horrific it was that we only had a few weeks left together.

I deeply regretted making such a big deal about the kissing. I wished I could take back the foolishness about breaking up. It had done nothing but cause her undeserved stress.

Just because of my own personal issues, I had been prepared to throw away everything we shared together. I had disrupted the dynamic whereby so much came so easily.

I was consumed by what was nothing more than a self-fabricated nightmare. It was a terrifying fantasy that ignored all the evidence of all our interactions since August 2005. It was a sad delusion that forgot all about the happiness we shared that winter driving around in my car, that denied the whole history of our perfect autumn of 2005.

It was a deceptive fiction that convinced me we were weaker than we were.

Even as I trembled before an unknown future, I knew I needed to resist these destructive lies.