The tale of an ex.

17 Jun

Disclaimer: Apologies for the likely plentiful errors. I really don’t feel like proofing right now.

So Lydia mentioned in her comment on my last post that she’d like to hear more about my ex, Curtis. I laugh when I think about that relationship, so I thought I would share a few stories and hopefully you’ll find them humorous as well.

I met Curtis in the ninth grade. We went to the same church, and his dad was the leader of the youth rock band …thinger there. Most of the teenagers that I was friends with there were in the band, so I decided to join. We practiced every Sunday afternoon, but it was quite a large group (about 3-4 guitarists, a bassist, keys, two drummers, and a shit ton of vocalists, including yours truly) so Curtis and I didn’t really talk that much, him being two years older than me, and rather busy with his PTS (perpetual tuning syndrome).

However, Curtis’ father got busy with some serious writing, and up and wrote an entire rock opera based on the biblical book of John (sounds lame but seriously, it was pretty impressive). This meant a lot more rehearsals and working together for promotion, tightening all the little details, costumes, set construction, audio production, etc, etc, etc. And as many of you know, you become quite close with people when working on a project with them (<3 Guide staff).

We actually ended up taking this show on the road for a few performances out of province, which meant long bus rides. School bus style. With the whole band, the set, the instruments, the actors… yeah. Tight squeeze. Obviously, Curtis and I ended up sharing a seat for these trips. Obviously we flirted. Obviously it was all super-cute and butterflies and cheek-ache smiles and being coy and disgusting. Yep. It was love, my friends.

Soon after he asked me to the movies. Three times. In one week. We went to a lot of movies. And for some reason we kept all our ticket stubs as souvenirs. Lol. Who am I? It was one of those really disgusting relationships. We had a “Curt & Meg Forever” logo that he put on all kinds of things. He gave me flowers all the time and opened every door. He was the archetypal gentleman. We had a secret code that we wrote in that only we could read. Our song was “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias. He would make me cds of him doing covers of love songs (helps when you’re musically inclined and your dad has a home studio in his bedroom). He was uber polite, never said anything bad about anyone, always just smiled and politely exited when anyone harassed him for being uber conservative and christian. And he was. Very much so.

I remember thinking it was cute at first. Knowing he’d NEVER pressure me into doing anything I might be uncomfortable with, and that he was super sensitive and sweet and like a puppy (yet was still two years older, had a job and a car. Win! Right?). Things went quite smoothly for the first year and a half. I got a homemade card on every monthaversary and flowers on the more significant ones, and lots of little surprises and romantic quirks and it was very much a cinematic romance. We knew we were going to be together forever. And we certainly weren’t going to have sex until we were married.

Now, you have to keep in mind that I was in the ninth grade when we started started going out. A couple years later, we’re still together, and I’m not in the eleventh grade. I’m sure you can imagine how much a person can change over two years at that age. I was growing up. I was discovering who I was. I wanted to rebel. I wanted to be bad. I wanted to be crazy. I wanted to party like LiLo. With an uber-conservative, uber-christian boyfriend that was by my side 24/7, that wasn’t really possible. I started to feel a little smothered. But I was very much immersed in religion at the time, so I figured it was a good thing that I had someone so committed to their faith to keep me in check. Lawl.

Now, this brings up a few of my favorite stories from this relationship. Because they’re embarrassing. Mostly for him, but for me by proxy. One day, we were walking by the school at lunch time, and an old friend of mine that eventually got sucked into the drugs-n-fights-n-teenage-moms crew came out of the school “Ugh. She’s such a slut now.” I said. His response: “Did…. did you just say what I think you said?” “Uh… I don’t know, I said she’s a slut.” “Megan. I’m disappointed. I can’t believe you would use a word like that.” “Excuse me??” “That word!” “Slut?” “Megan, it’s not okay to swear.” No jokes. This was for real. I laughed at the time, and I still shake my head and chuckle when I recall this funny little incident.

Story the second. I was in my senior year, making him 19 or 20 years old. We were out to the movies, but made a detour on the way home for some back-seat lovin’.  No, not that. Marriage first, remember? We were in the back seat, kissing. There may have been some leaning, I don’t recall, but definitely nothing horizontal. And no fondling. Or other intimate touching. Just making out. With tongue. After we decided it was time to head home (curfews! yay!) he said, and I quote, verbatim, “Wow. We just went as far as we’re going to until we get married.” Yep. Not kidding. I sucked in my lips and bit down on them, trying not to laugh, and just replied with an “Mm.” HAHAHAHAH. Okay, now I can openly l-m-a-o about the scenario. I don’t tell that story often because it’s just so damned embarrassing to say out loud. What a kid. How many 20 year old virgin males can you imagine saying that to a more-than-willing girl in the back seat of their car?? Hahha.

We didn’t last much longer as a couple after that. I felt like I couldn’t be myself with him. I couldn’t swear, I couldn’t even admit that I had the desire to drink, let alone have a beer. And I couldn’t experiment with general teenage things like sexuality. I definitely never told him that I had a girlfriend in junior high with whom I went much, much “farther”. Heh.

We broke up halfway through my senior year, but remained good friends. After all, we were in a band together with 4 other friends and had to play gigs and rehearse and hang out anyway. And it was fine. My friends told me he had planned to propose to me after my high school graduation that year. He would. He was basically planning out our life together, and I guess for the most part I was too. We lost touch when I moved away to university, but I still say hi and make small talk when I run into him and his wife and kids (yep.) on my visits home.

I didn’t expect this to be such a long post, it’s not something I’ve ever written about, or talk much about, but I suppose it’s an important part of my past. We were together for three years. Three very important years, from the middle of my first year of high school, to the middle of my last year of high school. But somehow, when I think back to high school, I don’t really think of him. I think of my friends and the activites and events we worked on, I think about academics and dances, and I think about how awesome senior year was. It’s strange that something that was so much a part of my life isn’t one of the first things that comes to mind. I guess I mostly remember the parts of high school that I would still be into, as the person I have become since those days. I guess I really knew who I was all along, I just had to take the long route to figure it out. And I didn’t really fully figure it out until I met Randall. But that’s definitely another post for another day.


2 Responses to “The tale of an ex.”

  1. Lydia-yo. June 17, 2010 at 10:46 pm #

    I think I’m a relationship voyeur. I’m definitely a relationship cheerleader–I love to root for a real-life love story, but oh, Lord, do I love to share failed relationship stories.

    I’m glad you didn’t end up playing wife to Curtis and bringing forth a new generation of Curtis’s into the world. Aside from having no Randall, can you imagine all the ways in which your life would be drastically different? …I don’t want to say horrifically different, because, I mean, I don’t even know Curtis. But I have a feeling he would have suffocated your personality, and completely inhibited your happiness.

    Because you’d only be allowed to fuck with the intention of popping out a kidlet. And you definitely wouldn’t be able to refer to it as fucking, MEGAN.

    (PS, I absolutely LOVE the tone you gave Curtis, with his curt (haha, Curt Curtis) Megan-admonishments. I can imagine that was his actual tone, too.)

    • megnorris June 17, 2010 at 10:59 pm #

      Hahaha, he got the “curt” thing occasionally but usually it was “courteous Curtis” or “Curtis No-Penis” (his last name rhymes with ‘no penis’. lawl.) But he was actually a very manic and happy and hyper and bouncy and friendly guy. Always a huge smile, and a metaphorical hop in his step. He just got very, very serious in that “slut” moment. Hahaa. So funny.
      And you’re right, much as I loved him, it would have left me unhappy and unfulfilled if I had played Wifey No’Penis.

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