“Touching story.” Culver growled at me, leaning into his axe that grinded deep into the ash and dirt. “Touching, indeed.”
Still under the foot of the beast, it’s scorpion like tail hovering closer above me, I glanced over at Paige, still under Culver’s steel like hooves. She flashed a very small smile to assure me of something—either my story was helpful to our cause or to make me less fearful of our fate. When Culver saw how we sought comfort through each other, he dug his hoof deep into her womb causing Paige to scream, echoing her anguish across the hellish landscape. Her screams pierced my ears, and angered me enough to try prying loose from the beast but to no avail—he appeared to be getting heavier.
The beast roared with pleasure at the sight of my struggle, like he had always done, either through himself or through Culver. Love wasn’t allowed down here—only a hatred and disbelief in God, or his Son, was tolerated. Knowing I had a lifetime of grievances against his mortal enemy, it seemed my story would only allow him to become even greater and more powerful. It’s what he wanted though—he wanted my soul to reveal how I really felt about God, about love, about the heavens, about creation. He banked that was soul was too darkened to ever end his dominion over me. I don’t know what Culver was, but he was close to his own offspring than a demon doing his dirty work.
“Your story is pointless.” Culver groaned, shaking his head, Paige moaning beneath him unable to look at me. “Just like your life.”
I didn’t know what brought Culver and Paige to where they stood now, and I had an even less understanding as to why I was in the middle of it. One thing was certain though--the master and his apprentice knew they would get even stronger with the direction my story was headed next. Doubts then began to circulate within—continuing had to be pointless. Paige could hear my thoughts though, like they all could, and when she turned to me and said “please” in agony, I knew my story had to continue on, but would there be enough time?
I was then jettisoned, for some reason, to the time before I became management material at Frugals and before I met “Sweetie”. There was a reason I was brought back to a scene in the middle of a Frugal’s stockroom—a time of my life I had no control of revisiting. It was now left to the natural state of my soul to show how this story would be viewed to the ones who looked to end me for all eternity.
“What the hell is goin’ on in here?” Asked my boss, Mark Warner, as he ran into the stockroom.
“I saw him!” Shouted Natalie Zimmerman, who pointed one of her broken fake fingernails at me. “Landyn! I saw him do it!”
“Do what? What happened?”
“Your model employee threw a hammer at Sara!” She announced as she then pointed to the object in question on the stockroom floor.
“Landyn? He did? Is this true?”
“Yes! He just tried to kill Sara!”
I had lost track of my sense of being, hurled into a void even before I heard the footsteps and the accusations soar from the mouth of the portly, diminutive, thick-lensed-wearing, Natalie Zimmerman. As she spun a narrative she stumbled in upon, her dark-rimmed glasses fogged up on her as she tried to catch her breath. Her words only bent my mind even further to the point that everything around me—the people, the surroundings, and even the incident itself, seemed like a dream. The kind of reverie you always remembered when you woke up from it because you were relieved you did. This nightmare, however, was caught in the realm of reality.
Sara and I worked at Frugals together. She was a petite, delicate girl with clear, light brown skin, and thin, dark brown hair. She had puppy brown eyes and small but robust lips buttressed by a pair of healthy tiny cheekbones. She stood a whopping sixty-two inches tall, and if she ate a heavy meal, she may have cracked a hundred pounds. When I first met Sara, I felt no attraction to her—none whatsoever. In fact, I couldn’t have been less interested in a girl. The girl who trained me on the cash register though, Diana—that was an entirely different story.
Diana was a slender, dark auburn-haired, fair-skinned, hazel-eyed fox. I was hired to be a cashier and my first day on the job, I spent most of my time with Diana. Since she was a cashier too, she trained me on the register, and over time, we naturally became friends. During my first week behind the registers, I learned that whining was common among cashiers when it came to covering breaks for one another. There was no bigger culprit than Natalie Zimmerman, who purposely took her breaks at the store’s busiest times and grumbled whenever she had to cover someone for an hour, or even ten minutes. Since Diana and I never complained, other than to point out Natalie’s tendencies to one another, a bond formed between us. Although I found myself attracted to her, I played it close to the vest because we worked together. I wasn’t opposed to dating a co-worker, but thought it was best to avoid doing so. It was a good thing too—one night while I cashiered until closing, I was introduced to her boyfriend…by her boyfriend.
“Where’s Diana?” He bellowed when he came to my checkstand. “I’m here to pick her up.”
“Um…I think she left a couple of hours ago.” I informed him from inside my checkstand. “What’s your name?”
“Eddie—her friendboy.”
“Oh. Okay.” I said, surprised to learn she had a boyfriend. “Does she have a pager?”
“Pager? No!” He exclaimed. “If you see her, tell her Eddie’s lookin’ for her.”
“Sure. Sure thing.”
Eddie appeared ready to punch me in the face, knock me out cold, throw me over his shoulder, and then dump me on the ground. He possessed a stocky yet broad-shouldered build, with curly and long, greasy dark hair. His emotionless face was acne ridden and he had a gait similar to that of a chicken. When he spoke, I was shocked to learn his name wasn’t Grog and he didn’t carry a club. Prior to Eddie’s dramatic cameo, I had no idea Diana had a boyfriend or a “friendboy”. It bummed me out that she never mentioned it—I believed there was potential there. After he made himself known though, that pretty much ended any chance I gave myself with her.
During the holiday season, my first at Frugals, the store had a “Secret Santa” gift exchange. When the hat of employee names on folded yellow paper came my way, I reached into it and drew Mark Warner, my boss. Drawing him in the gift exchange petrified me, but when I learned he loved baseball, I felt relieved. Since I was an avid baseball fan as well, I knew he would be an easy buy—the inaugural 1989 Upper Deck set with the Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card. Mark was ecstatic when he saw the baseball card set I got him, but up until that point, I still had no idea who drew my name. When I received my gift though, I succumbed to utter shock—four compact discs, one of each of my favorite bands at the time: Def Leppard, Metallica, Iron Maiden, and the Scorpions. Back in 1989, compact discs ran about seventeen dollars each—this was by no means a thoughtless gift. I figured it had to be from one, if not all of my male coworkers. They were the only ones who knew what music I liked, and it wasn’t beyond them to prank me. A few days later, one of them came clean and told me who it was—it wasn’t from them at all; it came from Diana. My low self-esteem had me convinced though that this was still a prank. When I asked how it was possible when she had no idea who my favorite bands were, he revealed she asked to trade names with him, and he obliged, even telling her what my favorite bands were. When he told me this without the slightest crack of a smile, I trusted he wasn’t kidding.
I couldn’t believe such a thoughtful gift came from a girl I actually liked. I felt the potential for romance was there, but I never allowed myself to assume anyone could have liked me, especially her. To know she spent over sixty dollars on my gift though, gave me the confidence boost I needed to believe she did. When the ecstasy of the moment began to sink in, I realized that as meaningful as the gift was, I couldn’t fully embrace it—she still had a boyfriend. Minutes after I learned of her generosity, I approached Diana, gave her a hug, and thanked her. I then waited to see if she wanted to talk after work, but when Eddie picked her up that evening without a pull away from him or even a word, I became confused by her gesture. When he continued to pick her up from work each night that followed, I then realized that not only did she not break up with him; she never even had any plans to. At that point, if she ended their relationship, it would be beyond obvious that I would be the reason for their split. I liked Diana, but my feelings weren’t strong enough to wrest her away from Eddie. I also didn’t want to be responsible for their breakup. She should’ve broken up with him before she gave me the gift, but it seemed her fear of being alone ran deep. I remained friendly with Diana, she had been my best female friend at the store, but I began to feel awkward around her. One fine morning, while I was assigned to straighten out the decimated toy aisle, Sara Sweeten approached me to shed some light on my predicament.
“That was really sweet of Diana to get you all those CD’s.” Sara said to me.
“I’m still blown away by it. It was super nice of her.”
“You should ask her out!” She exclaimed with her enthusiastic brown eyes.
“What? She has a boyfriend.”
“So? She likes you. Duh!”
“What’s goin’ on with them? Is she breaking up with him?”
“Not that I know of…I know she really likes you though! All you have to do is ask her out! She’s pretty! She’s sweet! Ask her out already!”
“Ahh…I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sara.” I said as I picked up a Slinky from off the ground. “Can’t people just put things back where they found them?”
“Don’t change the subject!” She shot back at me. “How can you say that it’s not a good idea? She’s hot! She has a nice body! She’s really nice! You’re blowing it!”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what.”
“What?!”
“I think you should ask her out.”
“Ha ha. Not funny.” She said as she turned to walk away from me.
Sara never cared for any of my jokes, but they tasted like an insult to her so I couldn’t blame her. Things would go on this way between her and me for several months. She would pester me about asking Diana out, and I’d counter with Eddie punching me out. Diana was really attractive and sweet to me, but I didn’t want to hurt a third party—especially one who would hurt me. If she didn’t love her boyfriend anymore, then she should break up with him and not use him as an insurance plan. I could’ve been wrong, but I’d bet my last dollar his last name wasn’t Aetna. Then one day, a merciful shift in the topic of our conversations materialized. Sara had gone to the beach over the weekend with a group of our ex co-workers and took pictures. She worked in the photo department at Frugals and had quick access to photos when they returned from the development center. When her pictures came back, she decided to share them with me.
“Look at Matt!” She giggled. “He’s sooo pale! We had to put a lot of sunscreen on him! Almost the whole bottle!”
“What was the SPF—two thousand? He’s totally covered in it! Did anyone try to rub it in?”
“We couldn’t rub all of it in! And we put sooo much on him. Then we decided to bury him in the sand.”
“That’s hilarious!” I howled with laughter when she showed me the picture—they had buried all of him, but placed his glasses on the bump where his face was.
“Look! Here’s a picture of Diana in her bikini!” Sara clamored with great enthusiasm. “She’s sooo hot! She has such a nice body.”
“Oh yeah! Wow.” I responded then shook my head, annoyed by her comment.
No question—Diana looked really good in a bikini, but it was the girl who posed next to her with the long dark brown hair that flowed off her shoulders and the tan, petite hourglass figure that caught my eye—Sara Sweeten. Prior to the moment she showed me this picture, intending to build up another girl who was already taken, there was never a single thing I found remotely desirable about Sara. I couldn’t even explain it other than to say Cupid must be a real thing. I had gotten close to her over the last six months, and without even realizing, I was having a blast with her each day we worked. Enough fun that on a subconscious level, I began to like her, but when I saw her in a bikini, my admiration soared into consciousness. As she continued to show me more pictures, my thoughts found it impossible to stray from the one she showed me of her. Just before she finished showing all of them to me, a service call blared over the store intercom, requesting her to return to the photo department for customer service.
“Can I please look at the rest of them?” I asked her. “I’ll bring them right over to you when I’m done.”
“Of course! Don’t steal the one of Diana!”
“I’ll try not to.” I responded sarcastically.
When the coast was clear, I purposefully looked through the rest of the pictures—to find more pics of Sara. There was only one other picture though, a group photo. She always wore her hair up in a bun or in a pony tail at work, but this was the first time I ever saw her with her hair down. In private, the male non-management employees at Frugals would pose juvenile “would you have sex with” questions to each other at downtimes. Whenever Sara’s name made the rounds, the answer was always “no way” from all of us. The pic my eyes beheld only proved one thing—we were all wrong about her and the joke was on us. As I gawked at her bikini pic one last time, I felt like an inside trader—I knew her stock value was going to rise before the rest of the world did.
From that moment on, we were nearly inseparable. I’d even check the work schedule in advance each week, just to see if we worked together. I looked forward to the days we did and was bummed out when our schedules failed to coincide. I wanted to learn more about her; she was a bit of a mystery to me, and the more I learned, it only became harder not to like her. Our conversations went from about me dating Diana, to what our struggles, hopes, and dreams were. We were both Frugals’ hardest workers, and we each had won the non-coveted “Employee of the Month” honor at the store several times. When our smiling faces adorned the store for months at a time, we proved our worth to our boss and coworkers—no one ever gave us a hard time whenever we talked. Although Sara seemed to always get her work done, I slacked off a tad after I started to harbor feelings for her, but like most company meetings, the time I spent with her at work was mandatory.
There were a couple of nights a week when we closed together. The store closed at ten, but it usually took us an extra half-hour to sweep and mop the floors and to close the registers. When we excitedly exited the store after the end of the day, along with the closing manager and any other co-workers, we couldn’t get inside our cars fast enough to hightail it out of there. As Sara and I grew closer though, we would jump inside our cars, but we’d let the others drive off first. Once we saw them vanish from our view, we would jump out of our cars and hang out in the parking lot before we drove home—usually two hours later. During those warm summer nights in 1990, we would bring out our beach chairs and chat about everything under the company of stars. Some nights, we found ourselves so engaged in conversation that the sun had to remind us it was time to go home. When Sara confessed that at twenty-one years old, she had never been in a serious relationship, I no longer felt alone. When she opened up about the issues she had with her mother, like I had with my father, I knew the stars watched over us.
Then D-Day fell upon me—the day my feelings for Sara outgrew our platonic relationship. It was a Saturday afternoon when she did something she never did before—she walked into the store on her day off. I knew the very second she arrived too, by the commotion from the stunned cashiers who were the first to see her when she walked in. As I worked on the nearby candy aisle, stocking the shelves with Halloween candy, I nearly fell over a small box of candy when I heard she had walked in—suddenly nervous about a girl I hung out with every day. When she stood before me minutes later, the butterflies burst from their cocoons. She allowed her straight, dark brown hair to flow across her neckline, and wore a short shoulderless white and blue-flowered sundress—a look that confirmed she was nothing less than a knock-out. At a time I didn’t need any more reasons to like her, she revealed to me another mystery—she had a great sense for fashion. The very second she said “good-bye” to me, I instantly missed her. When I realized I wouldn’t see her for the next two days, I missed her even more. Sara Sweeten suddenly emerged into something I never dreamt possible—a person I needed in my life. She added so much color to my day, I was lost in darkness whenever she wasn’t around. I needed to be able to see her every day, especially the ones she had off. As this heartache made its approach, like a pilot who maneuvered a distressed aircraft, I had to let Sara know how I felt about her. Even with what seemed like nothing but blue sky ahead of me, I still feared a crash—she was friends with Diana, after all. The longer I hid my feelings from her though, the shakier this pilot would become—I had never felt more vulnerable.
I could never muster the courage to tell Sara face to face how I felt about her. I was too weak emotionally, unskilled with women, cowardly, and would find a way to screw it up. I also battled my father’s voice in my head telling me I’m a “loser” and that I’d never get into college or amount to anything. I just could never find motivation in his ruthless words—only the potential of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I had to go in another direction to make my feelings known, and the easiest way I knew how was through the written word. Although I knew my words would be immortalized, I could let every feeling be properly known in a letter. I also reasoned that if she didn’t want to be my girlfriend, I’d know pretty quickly and with less collateral damage. For two weeks, I put my pen to paper and emptied my heart into a two-page handwritten letter. Since Diana could be an issue, I had to give her an out, and ended my note with “no matter what, we will always be friends”. As badly as I wanted to be with her, we were friends first before feelings developed. In the same breath, I couldn’t ignore the possibility of a traumatic disappointment.
For two weeks, I worked on the letter as if it was Tolstoy’s “War and Peace”. I scrutinized every single word and sentence—afraid one mistake, even grammatically, could cost me my destiny. After I wrote it and beat it up, I wondered if it was the right thing to do. This letter laid out all the feelings I ever had for another human being—if she laughed, I would be devastated. I also worked with her, and I worried how it would affect our reputations with our co-workers. I never feared our relationship wouldn’t last—Sara was marriage material and I saw a future with her—I just seemed to worry about everything else. Although I had already written the letter, I had to make sure this was the right thing to do. When two weeks passed after I penned it, I finally found the temerity to put it in my pocket and bring it to work with me. After that, the secret pouch became my letter’s refuge, as I was unable to find the right time to give it to her. Although several opportunities presented themselves, I still clung to it for dear life, afraid to lose the hope of happiness my hidden feelings fed me.
My mind then played devil’s advocate with my heart—I began to consider reasons why she would reject me. What if she felt guilty that being together would betray Diana, and I misread her intentions in getting to know me? Sara was social with everyone at Frugals…What if she was just a really nice person who only saw me as a friend? Women did think differently than men, and all because we were best friends didn’t mean she liked me more than that. What if I gave her the letter, put myself out there, and things were never the same between us again? I could hardly breathe as I considered all the things that could go wrong with what I wrote. Although I exhausted every reason under the sun to save my heart from unnecessary pain, the fear of eternal regret became greater—a moment of clarity that made it absolutely necessary for me to reach inside my pocket and hand it to her.
After we both left work one evening at the same time, I asked her if she wanted to grab a quick bite to eat. She hopped in my car without hesitation, and I then drove us to a local Taco Bell. I planned to hand her the letter on the ride over, but we were so engaged in conversation, the right moment never presented itself. As I reached into my pocket to pay for our meals, I went inside the wrong one and pulled out the letter instead. As I quickly scrambled to stuff it back inside my pocket, I shot a glance at Sara to see if she noticed what I held in my hand wasn’t money, but her eyes were fortunately elsewhere. I then let out a huge sigh of relief and handed the cashier a ten-dollar bill. After we ate, I drove us back to the Frugals’ parking lot, but before she exited my car, I was determined to get this six-week monster off my mind.
“Hey, Sara?” I asked as I slowly removed the letter from its two-week home. “Can I give this to you?”
“Okay.” She replied as she took my folded heart from me. “What is it?”
“It’s a letter I wrote—will you please read it when you get a chance?”
“Alright.” She replied as she opened my car’s door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sara.”
I waited for her to get inside her car, but after she waved goodbye as she drove off, I stayed there for a few minutes to catch my breath before I drove home. After I handed her my heart, I warned myself that no matter what, I couldn’t make her feel responsible for my happiness or sadness. If she rejected me, I would respect her decision and not treat her differently—all I could ask for was her honesty. I truly wanted the best for her, and if I wasn’t the best one to take care of her heart, then I had to accept it, no matter how bad the sting. I had to show her the nobility of a knight; otherwise, my armor could never shine brightly enough for her to recognize me as one.
During the following four days we worked together, not a single word passed between us. With a silence that resonated ever so loudly, I feared her verdict too much to be ready to hear it. All I wanted to do was hold onto false hope—the belief that I hadn’t obliterated all that ever existed between us with my letter. For the last six months, Sara and I were inseparable, but after I exposed the very core of me, we were suddenly nothing less than strangers under a moonless sky. Like a magician who didn’t have a hat to hide the rabbit in, what right did I ever have to believe in the magic of love between us? Sara became my best friend and over time, her warmth made it impossible for a man, who was always out in the cold, to further deny the sun. I never thought I’d be frozen out of her heart, left outside to thaw out on my own. The more I held onto false hope though, the more I lived in the two ways I always refused to—dishonestly and regretfully. I had hoped Sara would see the letter as a romantic gesture—words she could always hold me to because they were true. In this day and age though, where people played games with each other, I possibly played my hand too soon and scared her. Or, maybe she simply didn’t want to date someone she worked with? Then again, maybe she feared our relationship could jeopardize her friendship with Diana. Whatever it was that made her avoid me, I couldn’t blame her. To go from best friends to a romantic couple was not only a difficult transition but also awkward to communicate. I wanted to tell her in person about my feelings, but was afraid to get caught up in all the emotions and then leave out an important detail I wanted her to know. I tried to play it cool like most men, but in reality, I was a hopeless idealist and a handwritten letter of feelings seemed to be the more romantic route. When I could no longer deny that my letter not only gave her my heart but also power over me, I decided against all hope to accept my fate. I found Sara at the most ideal time as she knelt down, straightening products on the shampoo aisle—which made it a little harder for her to run away from me.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Hey, stranger.” I smiled as I hovered above her.
“Hey.” She replied flatly without making eye contact.
“Did you read my letter?” I asked reluctantly.
“I did.” She sighed.
“Okay.” I nodded, then turned away to flee the scene.
“Can we talk about it tonight after work? You’re off at nine too, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. I’ll meet you outside by your car.”
When the clock struck nine, I braced myself for the ground to crumble beneath me. After seeing and talking to her nearly every single day for the last six months, when I talked to her after four days of silence, she didn’t even look at me. I went to school because I wanted to be a writer, but on the most important writing assignment of my life…I failed. I spent two weeks on a letter because I wanted to begin a new chapter in my life with the most important person that ever walked into it, yet my reader never made it past the prologue. I must have clearly misread everything and ruined a good thing between us with my letter. I knew it—she knew it—let’s just get it over with. I didn’t know if she left the store, but when I approached her car, she was already inside of it. Time seemed to stand still when she reached across to open her passenger side door after she saw me, but even before I grabbed the door handle, I already felt a great sense of dread. Once inside, the pine scent from the hanging tree-shaped air freshener pleasantly filled her car, contrasting my sense of impending doom. As I sat down in my electric chair, I waited for her to speak—or to place the helmet of electrodes over my head.
“When did you start liking me, Landyn?” She asked calmly as she looked ahead and not at me.
“I would say about three months ago.”
“Why’d you wait so long to tell me?”
“Well, I was worried about how you would take it. I didn’t want to ruin a good thing—you know, our friendship.”
“Did I ever tell you that I remember your first day here?”
“No.” I replied, surprised. “You remember that?”
“Yeah…I thought you were stuck up.” She revealed. “You never said “hi” to me or anything when you first started working here.”
“I’m sorry that I gave you that impression. I’m a quiet person when I don’t know people. I’ve always been kind of reserved.”
“You never said ‘good morning’ or ‘goodnight.’” She cut me off as she continued to look out beyond her windshield. “You never even asked me, ‘how are you?’”
“I understand.”
I started to sense her friendship was a power move—for not dating Diana even though she had a boyfriend, and for being antisocial when I first started working at Frugals. All I could do was wait for her to throw my letter back at me in a crumpled ball at this point.
“You never talked to me for an entire year, Landyn.” She elaborated. “That was the norm before I started talking to you.”
If I came off as “stuck up,” it wasn’t intentional—I never assume anyone cares if I say “hi” to them or not. I would’ve never blown off people, especially those I walked past, but our paths hardly crossed, if at all, during my first year. I should have been more cordial to Sara though—we worked an entire year together and I could’ve acknowledged her more, even in a small way.
“You’re right and I’m sorry. I totally understand how you feel.” I said as I grabbed the door handle prepared to leave her car. “Have a—”
“The truth is, Landyn.” She continued as she still refused to look in my direction.
“—good night.” My voice tapered off as I remained inside with my hand still on the handle.
“The way you acted bothered me sooo much, and I’ve come to realize I’ve liked you since the day I met you.” She declared. “As I got to know you over the last six months, I learned I was completely wrong about you.”
“You were?” I replied in surprise but then tried to recover. “I mean…over time I was confident you’d find out, sooner or later, that I wasn’t that bad of a guy.”
“I was relieved that you didn’t listen to me and dated Diana—it would’ve broken my heart. I’m glad you said no to her…so my answer is yes.”
“Yes?”
Sara then broke her gaze from the windshield and shifted her body to face me.
“I’ll be your girlfriend.”
I had no idea how to react—her answer was the last thing I expected and drowned me in the waves of disbelief and elation. Sara and I were best friends and never kissed before—a hurdle we had in front of us after a long friendship. I wanted to save the kiss for our first date so instead, gave her a long, warm hug. As we embraced, I deeply savored the moment—the happiest one of my entire life. It took six months and the longest gut-wrenching six weeks of my life, but I finally felt what I waited nineteen long years to feel, and it felt sweeter than I ever believed it would. The following year, we created many fond memories, and our co-workers were happy to see us as a couple. We even took a few classes together in junior college—Sara studied political science while I studied English. Every morning I awakened to a dream and felt like the luckiest man on Earth.
During the first month of our relationship, after we shared our first kiss, we quickly went from friends to lovers. The second month in, one night while we spoke on the phone, Sara blurted out that she loved me but hung up before I could respond. I then immediately called her back to ask her what she said. When she said it again, I told her I loved her too, although I could’ve told her that even before we were together. As we got closer, we naturally became more intimate. Each time I touched her and she touched me—I fell more in love with her. Her soft skin was remarkably irresistible and she made me feel handsome for the first time in my life. During the first year, we kissed, we hugged, we cuddled, and we held hands, but since we lived with our parents, anything past that was hard to come by. This was my first girlfriend and everything was new to me, but the closer we became, the more I wanted her sexually. About four months into our relationship, I decided to test the waters. One night while we kissed inside my car, I decided to maneuver my hand from her face to the side of her body. When she didn’t stop me, I began to slowly slide my hands into her pants to feel her soft bottom. When she allowed me to do that, I began to unbutton her jeans, but all I felt were her pursed lips upon mine. When I opened my eyes, hers stared right back at me. Suddenly unsure of myself, I pulled away and she made a confession to me—she was a virgin and had no plans to change that until she was married. My hormones then rallied against her—how could you love your boyfriend, yet be unwilling to make love to him? My friends were all experiencing sex and I was already twenty, yet I had a girlfriend and still had to wait at least another five years? As I looked into Sara’s innocent eyes though, I also saw how extremely special our relationship was—how many people could honestly say they ended up with their first? She commanded respect from a man who claimed to love her, and I also couldn’t stomach the thought of her being in arms other than my own. There was a purity we both shared and when the time was right, we would get to experience that together. What we had was truly special enough to hold out for and I was completely on board.
Although I respected Sara’s boundaries, the world around me showed me no mercy. I had several friends who were in college, and they frequently shared stories with me of their sexual conquests. I also had friends with girlfriends who told me the things they did on a daily basis. Whenever my single friends invited me to visit them, they always wanted to show me the new porno movie they had. I even had to borrow a few of them just to get me through those days when it got to be too much. As hard as it was, I had so much fun with Sara that it didn’t weigh on me too heavily—I had plans to marry her. I never discounted the importance of sex; it mattered a lot to me, but I also knew true love never centered around it. If our relationship was just about sex, our marriage had less of a chance of working out. As the pressure around me grew, not one time did I consider breaking up with her—I saw the beauty in being married to someone who I was her one and only, and she was mine.
The biggest hurdle I faced to fight off my desire to make love to Sara, was not just my great attraction to her—I also had a sex drive that seemed to be in constant overdrive. It was the picture of her in a bikini that sparked the fire in my heart for her. She had a petite and tan, slender body with curves in the right places, and I fantasized about having sex with her all the time. One night, I finally got her to agree to let me take her to a jacuzzi I always talked about after a fellow coworker took a group of us there one night. It was located in a gated condominium community in Palos Verdes Estates, just off the cliffs, and a good friend of his lived there. His buddy encouraged us to hop the gate and use it whenever we wanted to, and we did—several times actually, with a case of beer after work before I dated Sara. I had little hope she would ever come to the jacuzzi with me since she had to scale an eight-foot iron fence to get in because the gate locked from both sides when it got dark. I often fantasized about her wet skin against mine, so when she agreed to go, I was beyond ecstatic, emotional even. We went to the beach a couple of times together, but there were always too many people around to do anything she felt comfortable with—we were never affectionate in public. To finally be somewhere private, to finally feel her soft wet skin and to hold and touch her while she wore a bikini, was a big deal. Before we departed to the spa of ecstasy for our Saturday night date, Sara told me she planned to change into her bikini in the backseat of my car. When we arrived at our destination, she then informed me of the ground rules.
“You can’t look at me, Landyn—I’m serious.” She instructed. “No peeking through the rearview mirror!”
“I’m your boyfriend, Sara!” I laughed with a hint of disappointment in my tone. “It’s dark out—you know I can’t see well, anyway.”
“You know what I mean. Not until we’re married.”
“Why didn’t you just wear your bikini under your clothes? Then you could’ve just taken off your clothes and you wouldn’t be naked at all.”
“It didn’t feel comfortable and I didn’t want my parents to say anything in case it looked funky.”
“Ah... got it.” I replied, not knowing there was an issue with comfort or funkiness.
I never thought Sara was prudish—I knew how much her purity meant to her, and I respected her a great deal. Although it was tough on my raging hormones and hard not to take personally, at the same time it made me feel special—that in an impure world, she wanted to save that part of herself for me. If there was ever a person worthy of wearing a white dress on her wedding day, it was Sara, and I felt honored to be her boyfriend.
“You promise you won’t look?” She asked again.
“Huh? Promise what?”
“Landyn!”
“Oh! That.” I teased before I leaned in to kiss her. “I promise.”
When we reached the condo complex, I parked on an adjacent hillside road, about sixty yards away. Without opening a door, she jumped over my car’s center console and into the back seat of my Toyota Tercel. As she began to undress, my rearview mirror called out to me, but as tempted as I was, I refused to betray her trust—a promise was a promise. When I brought my eyes to the ground to fight off the urge to look, I suddenly heard a knock on the passenger side window—since they were tinted, I couldn’t see who it was.
“What was that?” She whispered then remained still as if she heard a T-Rex.
“I don’t know.” I responded, more concerned I’d break my promise.
When I heard two more louder knocks upon the same window, I reached across the center console and rolled it down slightly.
It was a cop.
“What are you doing here?” He asked sternly.
“Hi, officer. I’m just meeting up with some friends.” I answered, trying to keep Sara incognito. “They should be here any minute.”
“What’s going on back there?” He inquired then began to shine his flashlight into the backseat.
“Uh, that’s my girlfriend—she’s just getting dressed.” I said, perturbed by his action—he probably just saw more of my girlfriend than I ever had. The more he shone his flashlight on her though, I imagined the deer in headlights look Sara likely gave him. I then saw the comedy in the situation—and that was never a good thing.
“What’s so damn funny?” He asked. “Are you high?”
“No, officer.” I told him as I fought back my laughter. “I don’t even smoke cigarettes.”
“That’s it! Get out of the car!” He roared. “Both of you out! Now!”
I immediately jumped out of the vehicle and noticed there were two officers—two blue-clad, tall and muscular white males. I then heard two feet hit the ground thirty seconds later, the only evidence I had of Sara emerging from my car. As the sounds of her feet shuffling upon the asphalt and the ruffling of her clothes as she tried to cover herself fueled my visual imagination, my focus remained on the promise I made to her. While I honored her wish though, I still found it difficult to hold in my laughter.
“So, why are you two here again?” Asked the same cop who first spoke to us as he shone the flashlight directly upon my face.
“We’re just meeting some friends here.” I said with my eyes nearly closed. “We planned to meet here then head out to a party.”
“Why here?” The other officer, who was bald, inquired.
“One of my friends used to live at those condos.” I said as I pointed down to the complex. “He knew we were familiar with them, so he told us to wait for him here.”
The cop I spoke with then shone his flashlight on Sara, and then back to me, and then on her again. When he brought the light back to me and saw a grin still on my face, I sealed our fate.
“Is this your car, Chuckles?” He asked.
“Yes, it is. Did you need to see my registration?”
“No—we’re just gonna search it instead.”
I guess he hoped to see the smile on my face disappear, but I only met his grin with one as Sara and I both stepped away from the car. As they conducted their search, I could only think of the real criminals they missed out on harassing. My car was always clean; I didn’t do drugs, I wasn’t drinking, nor did I have any alcohol in my car—this was a total waste of their time. Palos Verdes wasn’t known for its high crime rate, so they had to find excitement when they could. I then took a chance and shot a glance over at Sara while she clutched her clothes against her body. When she shook her head at me and whispered something, I couldn’t hear it. I could only assume they were words of disgust, so I looked away and up into a star-filled sky. As their search continued into its fifth minute, and I flirted with the endless temptation to check my girlfriend out, I then cracked.
“You’re not gonna find anything. I think you’re wasting your time.” I shouted out to them.
“Oh, really? We’re not gonna find anything?” Replied the bald cop as his head rose above the roof from the passenger side of my car. “Would you say this is ‘nothing’?”
He then slowly strutted around my car towards us as he slapped an object in his hand several times—a survival knife I had forgotten about that was under my seat. There were many car jackings in the Harbor City area several months earlier at the time, and I didn’t own a gun. At five-foot eight and a hundred fifty pounds, I wasn’t going to intimidate anyone, let alone someone with a weapon. I was just trying to give myself a chance, and to protect Sara, in the event I had no other choice. When the hairless officer stood before me and met his partner on the other side of the car, their facial expressions, as they looked at me in repulsion, suggested they had just solved the O.J. Simpson murder case.
“Um…yeah—I forgot about that.”
“I bet you did, Chuckles.” Remarked the dark-haired cop.
“Whoa! I only carry that for protection—I live in Harbor City.”
“Yeah, well you’re not supposed to carry a knife in your car—it’s considered a concealed weapon.”
“I didn’t know that. I’ll definitely take it out of my car the minute I get home tonight.”
“You won’t have to.” Retorted chrome dome as he clipped the knife to the side of his belt. “Have a wonderful evening.”
Before they drove off, Sara huffed at me then jumped into the backseat of the car and closed both doors. While I assumed she got into her bikini, I sulked over the loss of my means to a continued existence and waited for her to finish. A few minutes later, I heard the sound of a door open and then slam as she reappeared. When I looked over, her hair was up and she had a teal tank top over her bikini top with gray and teal short shorts—a look her body seemed to be made for. As she rendered me speechless, I suddenly cared a lot less about my lost weapon. I wanted to say she looked great, but with a scowl on her face, I didn’t know how well-received it would be. As we walked silently down a small hill to the gate of the community, I tried not to ruin the moment, but I couldn’t help but burst out into laughter.
“Really, Landyn?” She turned to me. “I can’t believe you.”
“What do you mean?”
“What was so funny? You know he wouldn’t have made me get out of the car if you hadn’t started laughing!”
“I’m really sorry—I just can’t help it.” I said as I broke into a hearty laugh. “You’re just so conservative, and you put in so much thought and effort so that no one, not even your own boyfriend, would see you naked—then these strangers just show up from out of nowhere and end up seeing you in the nude. I visualized you back there trying to dodge the flashlight, throwing punches at it, hoping they couldn’t see you. Just what are the chances of that happening at the very moment you’re getting changed?”
“I know—that is pretty funny.” She said as she laughed with me. “Just my luck!”
“I thought those kinds of things only happened to me!”
“Maybe it’s someone trying to tell me I’m too conservative.”
“I don’t think so—that’s just who you are. I admire that about you.”
“I feel violated.”
“Sara, please—for all we know, they didn’t see anything. I was just joking about them seeing you naked.”
“Do you really think so?”
“It’s possible. Fifty-fifty.”
When we reached the gate, I grabbed her hand and she then turned to face me. Sara and I never gazed lovingly at one another, so when she suddenly looked at me, it caught me by surprise.
“What if we were to make love tonight?” She asked, bringing her body against mine.
“You’re joking, right?”
“No.” She replied, bringing her arms across my shoulders.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.” She whispered, then kissed me.
“I thought you wanted to wait until you were married?”
“You plan to marry me one day, right?”
“Of course, I do but…”
“But what?” She asked, pulling her lips away from mine.
“What if I die and we don’t get married? What if?”
“Well, let’s say you don’t die—which is more likely to happen?”
“Sara, I know what you want. And as long as I know that, I want you to have that. You’ve waited twenty-two years already—I could never feel right about taking that from you until we’re married. I don’t want you to ever sacrifice who you are for my sake.”
“I know it drives you crazy, Landyn.” She said, knowing I couldn’t hide it from her while holding her close in my arms. “I feel I’m being selfish by making you wait.”
“It only drives me crazy because I’m so attracted to you. At the same time, I wouldn’t feel right if it happened any other way than the way you dreamt it. You deserve that from someone who loves you—I’m willing to wait.”
“That’s the thing I love about you, Landyn.” She said. “You may drive me crazy sometimes, but you’ve always put my feelings above your own.”
“I try.” I replied as I tried to taper off my exposed libido. “I try really hard.”
“I can tell!” She giggled as I anticipated the realization of a fantasy, and our relationship’s next great moment.
When I turned twenty-one, a whole new world opened up to me—the bar scene. I started to go out to clubs, drinking with my friends after work, and it didn’t sit well with her. When she accused me of cheating on her, I had to rethink things. When she accused me of cheating on her, it made me wonder if I was the right one for her. Sure, I’d have a few drinks and girls would talk to me, but nothing ever happened—I would never cheat on anyone, especially someone I considered my best friend. No girl I ever met at the dance clubs could come close to Sara, but the truth was, each time I went out, a part of me subconsciously rebelled against her conservative nature. I wanted her at the dance clubs with me—not to get wasted, but to let her hair down and have a drink or two. It really broke my heart that she didn’t want to be there with me, and I had to pay attention to that. She also used to tease me about my height, and although it never upset me, that too led me to rethink things. As much as I wanted it to work out between us, I was unsure if I was the right one for her. Then we started to fight with each other—we’d even get into it at work. She wasn’t happy with me going out, and I wasn’t happy she wouldn’t join me. I thought it was best to break up with her to see if that was what she truly wanted. I also thought it would take care of our disagreements, but there was one problem--I still had strong feelings for her and couldn't imagine her with someone else.
After Sara and I broke up, each day I held out hope she needed me—that she would show me I was the one for her. We remained close, but she just never made me feel safe. While my heart still hoped for us, one day, a blonde-haired male, six to eight inches taller than me, entered the store just to visit with Sara. A few hours after he left the store, I couldn’t fight back the emotions that swelled inside me like a tsunami wave when I saw her hug him before he left. Even though she was no longer my girlfriend, I was crushed—I had to ask her about him when I found her alone in the stockroom. With my stomach in knots, I approached her.
“Hey.” I said.
“Hey.” She replied flatly.
“Who was that?”
“Huh? Who was what? What are you talkin’ about?”
“That guy who left the store a few hours ago. The one you were hugging.”
“Oh, that’s Tyler—Tyler Symenchski. He just transferred to UCLA—he’s studying political science.”
“I didn’t know they had a political science department at UCLA.” I questioned as my stomach began to feel uneasy.
“Yep—he’s majoring in it.” She responded with an eye roll.
“How do you know him?”
“He was at Harbor my first semester there. We were in the same political science class and sat next to each other. There were only six of us in the class and we became friends. He was Student Body President, and our professor would always tell us he would be the President of the United States someday. He’s always stayed in touch with me.”
“So, you knew him before I asked you to be my girlfriend?” I asked—a question I was unsure if I wanted to know.
“About a month before you gave me the letter.” She said with another eye roll. “Anything else you want to interrogate me about?”
“Do you have a crush on him?”
“I do.” She told me without hesitation. “But that doesn’t mean I like him—I just have a crush on him.”
When Sara told me this, I felt my entire world had just fallen apart. It made me even wonder if she ever loved me at all, and that’s when the tsunami hit the shore.
“Wait—let me get this straight.” I said as I folded my arms and shook my head in disbelief. “If you have a crush on him that means you don’t like him?”
“It just means I have a crush on him.” She quickly shot back.
“I don’t know, Sara, but I think to have a crush on someone means that you like them too—don’t you think?”
“I only have a crush on him! Now drop it! You’re being ridiculous! Shouldn’t you be working, Landyn? I got a lot of work to do.”
“After two years together, how could you do this to me?” I shot back.
“What do you mean? What did I do?” She said as she turned to face me, now mimicking my posture—her arms were now folded, too.
“Why would you bring him in the store, Sara?”
“Landyn, we’re not together anymore—you broke up with me. Remember?”
“It wasn’t because I didn’t have feelings for you. I didn’t break up with you because there was someone else—or that I wanted someone else. I find it really hard to believe you didn’t have feelings for him while we were together. How do you expect me to feel?”
“I honestly don’t care.” She said harshly, then turned away from me again. “You should really listen to yourself—you’re not making any sense right now.”
Sara always had a thing for politicians—men of power. The only thing I ever had power over was the dolly at Frugals. When I noticed Tyler was tall, I recalled all the times she teased me for being short. She would tell me, “you’re five foot seven and a half inches,” but I would always counter with, “I’m five foot eight! I round up to the next inch!” It was all in good fun, but over time, I wondered if this was why she wanted to remain a virgin “until we were married”—because she feared having short children. I could understand a woman wanting a taller man if they often wore high heels, but I was taller than her when she did wear high heels. I would never knock her, or any woman for a personal preference, but this was a harsh dig because we were together for two years—why even date me at all? The truth was, I never felt inadequate about my height until I met Sara—something else my already low self-esteem didn’t need to contend with. It just began to feel like either Sara settled or she felt sorry for me, but that she always believed I was never the right one for her. She was right though…I did break up with her, but I did only because I thought she wouldn’t know what she had until it was gone. All it seemed to take was for me to be the bad guy then break things off with us so she could be with Symenchski without the guilt. After I learned she had a crush on another man, an affection that had to take place on some level when we were together, she jettisoned me off into another world. When I reasoned that he was likely a guy she would’ve given her entire self to, even before marriage, she threw gas on a fire inside me that was already lit. It even felt like she wanted to believe I was cheating on her—so it justified her crush on him. Although I wanted her to be happy, it didn’t mean my heart was prepared for this to happen less than a month after we had broken up. For the first time, I was suddenly thrown into the unfamiliar pangs of jealousy, and I struggled to rein in my emotions when I felt played for a fool.
“Please, Sara.” I struggled to say as she turned to face me. “I’m begging you to not encourage him to come around here—it’s too soon.”
“You just have to deal with it, Landyn!” She snapped coldly, then walked past me on her way out of the stockroom.
Before her abrupt careless exit, we stood next to a wooden table bench, about twenty feet in length and three feet off the ground. As she left me alone underwater, drowning in total helplessness, I spotted a hammer lying on the bench and quickly seized it. In a desperate attempt to relieve what I felt inside, I hurled it across the stockroom floor, perpendicular and away from where Sara just exited. When it left my hand, I had an idea where it would go, but what I didn’t anticipate was its ricochet after it bounced off the cement floor towards the area Sara had just vacated—and just mere seconds away from an entering Natalie Zimmerman. While I gasped in fear and regret, Natalie let the accusations fly.
“Oh my GOD! I know what you did, Landyn! You were trying to hurt Sara!” Natalie screamed at me upon her entry in the stockroom.
“That’s not true!” I defended as I looked at both her and my boss, Mark Warner, who had also just entered the stockroom.
“Not true? I heard the entire conversation you just had with her!” She exclaimed as she looked back at Mark and then back at me with her hands in the air. “I heard every word!”
“Yes, I was definitely upset with Sara, but I’d never throw a hammer at her.” I said as I tried to catch my breath as sweat beaded upon my forehead. “You just happened to come in at the wrong time. I didn’t expect it to hit off the floor like that—it had an equal chance of hitting me.”
“You should have known!” Scolded Natalie as she turned to face Sara who stood behind her.
“Are you okay, Sara? Do you feel Landyn is a threat to your safety?” Mark asked.
With Sara’s eyes fixated on our boss for what felt like an eternity, she shook her head.
“Are you sure?” Mark asked again.
“I’m sure—we’re okay.”
“I’m sorry, Sara.” I told her then looked at Mark, concerned that she could get in trouble. “This was my fault, Mark—it’s just been the worst day of my life. I’m sorry.”
“Landyn, I want you to come to my office in ten minutes.” He demanded.
“Sure.”
After she reassured Mark that everything was fine, he gave her a hug and then exited the stockroom, leaving Sara, Natalie, and myself there. Sara, who continued to treat me like the ghost that I was, then turned to Natalie.
“Landyn would never hurt me…he’s been my best friend for two years.” Said Sara as she pointed her tiny index finger at Natalie. “You need to mind your own business—you were eavesdropping on a personal conversation we were having.”
“But…but you guys were arguing and uh…he was, uh…loud and everything…and you told me he broke your heart!” Droned Natalie.
“It’s none of your business—got it?” Responded Sara. “That’s the end of it.”
The more she tried to convince her, the more Sara disagreed. When she lost her battle, Natalie scowled at me and then stormed out of the stockroom. When she disappeared from our view, Sara stood before me with worry etched on her face. I could only bring my eyes to the floor though, unable to look at her—I was too disgusted with myself. After I closed my eyes, I suddenly felt her body against mine. We then used our arms instead of words to bring us closure as the steel tool rested next to us with nothing more to say.
----------------------------------------