It was the week before labour day. A last gathering of the masses for a bonfire and drinkfest. A last hurrah before parting ways for school and work.
After what had been about six weeks of mentally intense communications via email and that old thing called ICQ, I was sure this was my last chance at anything with the proverbial girl of my dreams. My sporadic efforts of an attempt to get together before this were consistently thwarted with variations of “I have plans already.”
There were no excuses this time. This was a planned affair with many people. There would be many people I knew and many I did not. But that didn’t matter. I was going for one thing and one thing only. Like a bad teenage movie, I was going to hookup with this girl.
I had previously injured my ankle, and this was a bonus card. As I hobbled over to make my claim on a portion of land beside the fire, she came and assisted. The only one on one time we’d have, and I’m sure I said something stupid as I always do.
My comments would quickly be overshadowed after I parked myself in my chair.
“I want you to meet my boyfriend.”
Like a Katana blade just ripped through my heart. There was nothing I could say. Nothing at all. This wasn’t an old boyfriend. He was new. A boyfriend of three whole days. I spent the next twelve hours wondering what I did wrong over the last two months and I couldn’t figure it out. I still can’t figure it out.
People faded off around 3am. I stoked the fire. I kept it alive for a few more hours. I saw this sunrise. Around 7am when people started waking up I was greeted with a “wow, you’re still awake?” by one of the people I didn’t know.
That was my cue to leave.
Update: Read Part Four.