A Girl Like Me

This one may have to go into the unpublishable pile. The I-just-need-to-get-it-out-but-no-one-can-ever-see-this pile. There are dark corners of my memory, after all, that no one gets to see. No one.

I went to a baby shower yesterday, held to celebrate my beautiful friend and her soon-to-be-born baby girl. I went, even though I knew going might dredge up some whisper of a past I'd sooner forget, hints of a former life where I was selfish and mean and terrified and mean. I was mean. I was scared.

I talk about this past often enough to get my point across -- I have guilt. But what I don't really mention is who I was mean to. Because, sure I was sometimes a little catty to girls I knew, but they were not my main target. No ... my main target, the subjects of my abject cruelty, were boys. I was mean to boys.

I toyed with their affections -- I lied to, flirted with, teased, cheated on, and threw my car keys at them. I stomped all over any sense of self-respect or dignity that they had. I did this mostly without remorse.

The most hilarious part? I'm still friendly with most of these boys-who-are-now-men. They are far better human beings than I could ever hope to be.

When I walked up to the house where my friend's baby shower was being held yesterday, I was ready. There is nothing that can happen here that can take away the things that matter most, I told myself. My husband, my kids, my family, my friends. Those are mine. Those are the things I will focus on.

I was about seven steps into the house when I realized something was up. I started to look at the photos on the walls, and the name plaques hanging over the doors. I started to see the face of a boy I had been particularly cruel to, family photos and smiling faces, and oh-my-god-please-don't-tell-me...

Hello! A woman said, holding out her hand, her husband just over her shoulder. And who might you be?

Hi, I stammered. I'm Andrea.

Oh, {sideways glance} We know who YOU are.

Of course they did. Their son once stood in the middle of a street and asked for God to please-kill-him-now because I was so damn mean to him. Of course they knew who I was.

They were gracious ... the grace must run in the family. Their son is more than gracious -- he is downright forgiving. But as the hours went by I could feel the storm building -- pulsating -- behind my right eye. By the time I left, I felt as though my head was about to explode.

I drove home feeling shitty. Totally and completely and irrationally angry. Mostly at myself, but also at the poor man that handed me his heart many years ago, for keeps.

My husband called and I told him I was almost home and I could tell he was irritated that I had not called sooner, and I lost it.

And none of it made any sense, not even to me, which means that somewhere inside of me there was an explanation I was too afraid to say out loud. We do this dance often, and it usually ends with me admitting some ugly truth that I would rather not admit.

But this was a truth I really did not want to look in the face. Tell me how your day was my husband pleaded.

It was fine, I said flatly. It took hours -- hours -- for me to offer up the explanation. And when I did, I didn't feel relieved -- I felt ashamed.

I told my husband about the boy, about how I used him. About how we were two kids making grown-up choices, and when things got too real, I wanted out. Not because it hurt ... because it was a nuisance. He was a nuisance. I was a bitch.

I fell asleep early, but I woke up after a couple hours, and went looking for my husband. He was sitting at the dining room table, grading papers.

How can you still love me after I tell you these things? I asked him.

And he hugged me and told me he loves me most when I'm truthful, which is a lesson I'm still trying to learn. Being a coward is so much easier.

I went back to bed, and as I began to drift off to sleep I finally let myself think the one thought that I had been shoving to the back of my mind all day, the one thought that threatens to break me every time it snarls in my ear.

I hope my son never meets a girl like me...