Cute boy from SC: the end

So when someone’s rambling on and on about something, do you ever want to make those loops with your finger in the “wrap it up, moron” gesture? That’s what I feel like doing to this “cute boy” series of posts. The original reason for beginning it was that after almost 6 years, I finally feel honest when I say I don’t want or expect any further contact with him. I don’t quiver when I hear about him, don’t flip immediately to his section in the alumni magazine, and have no desire to send him email in hopes of trying to get his attention again. I did all those things – for years – but I think that last ember is finally cool, and I wanted to pick it up and examine it, carry it around for a little while longer to try to see why it was so important to me.

I guess I should officially wrap up the story. We didn’t speak often after the massage evening. I climbed the stairs to the apartment and spent a few minutes just sitting in the dark. Then I sent email to Rachel – she was across campus in the computer lab – then shocked Elle by coming in to her room so late to retell the story. Neither had realized I hadn't returned to my room immediately after the meeting. My girls… some of my favorite moments in this story were spent with them. Daydreaming, laughing, talking about something that happened in my life rather than just taking in what they would say about theirs. Good times – great friends.

And Gabe? We saw him several times after that, but no one incident sticks out for me. There were many friends who said I should have kissed him – made some sort of move after he so carefully constructed a seductive environment. But I wasn’t, and still am not, sure what his motivation was. I was there, and while it was intimate, I don’t know that he was interested in anything sexual. I really don’t. So I continue to be pleased that I didn’t sleep with someone who had a girlfriend. I probably would have, had there been a more explicit invitation, but with everything so shadowed and open to interpretation, I remain 80% pleased, 20% regretful that the situation played out as it did.

He helped me with some homework, coming over several times. We stayed in the living room – my bedroom safely down the hall, guarded by 3 roommates who were convinced that contact with Gabe would only be harmful. I think he was only in my room once – I wanted to show him how well I’d done on a test he’d helped me study for. But once he was sitting on the bed, and looking through a binder I’d handed him, Julie joined us and coaxed us back down the hall. He did offer to give me a massage again – after an evening studying where I wasn’t be as attentive and awestruck as normal. I turned him down that time – firmly – and told him he should leave so he could make the Easter date he had with his girlfriend. He graduated – we’ve exchanged maybe 4 emails over as many years, and I haven’t heard from him for a long time.

I believed completely that I was drawn to him for a reason. That if we weren’t meant to end up together that the experience would be somehow critical for me. But I don’t know that it was – I think I could have looked at him at that first environmental meeting on the quad and thought “cute boy” and moved on. But I didn’t, and I’ve never experienced anything like that again. That immediate attraction that only strengthed as I learned more and more about him. The flutters – giddy excitement – that I felt on receiving all of his emails, even years after I’d seen him. My heart broke a little when I read about his first child. I had been waiting for that and it was, as expected, the final push that closed the door on any hopes I might have carefully hidden over the years.

Rachel had a story of her own. She had a crush when she was in high school – a boy she knew from family connections. They had known each other for years, but had never been particularly close. She told me about him (we’re going to call him Ross) when I was tucked in the corner of her dorm room, both of us doing homework. She wanted to take him to prom, and he had accepted her invitation. But something got in the way – I can’t remember if he couldn’t afford a tuxedo rental or if he was uncomfortable with her younger group. She ended up going with a friend, deeply disappointed in his late refusal and irritated over his lack of explanation.

A big fan of romance novels, I confidently predicted that their story wasn’t yet over. I recall looking in her dark eyes and telling her that I didn’t know if they were meant to end up together, but I knew that something more would happen. No decent novel would end with disappointment like that. It was just a conflict that would eventually be resolved.

She went home after graduation. Got a job, found an apartment, and ran into Ross with her sister. He asked about her, she told me over the phone. She thought he might be interested. Vindicated, I waited for future reports.

They’re married now. Contemplating a house and children, fighting and making up, figuring out how to continue building a life together.

That’s a good story – one where things worked out, people fell in love, and things got neatly tied up at the conclusion. I think that’s why I hung on to Gabe for so long – kept those memories fresh and ready to revive. I thought there was something more – that such strong feelings couldn’t lead nowhere. But sometimes they do; perhaps that’s the lesson I was meant to learn. Sometimes I’m not the young, beautiful heroine. That doesn’t mean there isn’t cool stuff out there for me – friends, work, a house, the best little dog in the world. And maybe I do have a boy out there somewhere – one who will make me fluttery and giddy again. This next one might be the real one, or maybe he’ll just be more practice. But as I sit, stuck in a dateless rut and not really all that bothered by it, I wanted to review the story that made me lose faith that love is all powerful. Not every story makes a great novel, I guess. So I don't have a romance novel of my own - just some background material on a website. And for now, I'm good with that.