You Know With Love Comes Strange Currencies

Kori and I broke up a month or so later.  In fact, it was just before Christmas.  It was a nasty, drawn out break-up.  Then again, are there other kinds?  Let me be the first to say (before my ex’s start crawling out of the woodwork to say it for me) that I was terrible at breaking up.  I don’t like confrontation, and I really hate hurting people’s feelings; especially women’s feelings.  When things took that turn for me in a relationship and I decided I no longer wanted to be in it, I never just came out and said it.  First I’d try to avoid.  Then, when that failed I would try to piss you off in the hopes you’d dump me and I wouldn’t have to be the bad guy.  I am very George Costanza in many ways.  And throughout all that, you’d be asking me if something was wrong and instead of taking that opportunity to be honest and open, I’d simply say no, all was well.  It was only when things eventually came to a boil and I couldn’t take it any more and the girl couldn’t stand my odd behavior that I’d finally, when cornered, come out with the truth.  It was really stupid and childish and I’d feel especially guilty about it except that I am pretty damn sure there are thousand women reading this saying “that’s what my ex did to me!”

  In fact the art of the break up is a skill Stacy was quite gifted at, and I was actually a little jealous of.  When Stacy was dating a girl and decided things weren’t working for him, he dealt with it.  He sat the girl down, in person, and had a long drawn out discussion that inevitably laid all the points where they weren’t compatible and wanted different things and the end result was they could no longer see each other.  He not only told them how he felt, he told them why and broke it all down into scientific detail.  But also bear in mind that if Stacy saw a girl he thought he liked, there was a lengthy interview process before he’d ever get involved at all.  First there were social outings with large groups.  Then a couple “hanging out” sessions with only a few others around to chaperone.  Then there were be a one on one, but it was not a date.  They would go somewhere quiet where Stacy would talk, a lot, and explain who and what he was about.   If by the end of this process, which took weeks and sometimes months, Stacy was confident he could date this girl, plans for romantic proceedings would begin.

One weekend we were home visiting at the same time and I went over to his folks house to pick him up.  I remember he was ribbing me about a girl and how I had pretty much jumped right into another romantic entanglement, like I was the weird one!  I believe I said something cheeky like “I’m sorry I don’t need to know a girl’s entire life story and family history before I’ll meet her for coffee.”  Even his mother laughed at that, because it was true.  

But ladies, be honest.  Do you want to sit and deal with weeks of bullshit with a guy, feeling like your being investigated for a government job?  Or would you rather you see a guy and he sees you and you both feel that spark and he makes it his immediate and all-engulfing goal to make your knees buckle?

Things were sordid by Christmas.  Right before we left for winter break, right in the middle of finals, Kori demanded I tell her what I wanted and I said I wanted to stop seeing each other.  That night on the phone around midnight, after multiple painful conversations on the phone she told me that she was late.  I should hope by now I don’t need to explain what she meant by late in that instance.  And of course in that moment I wanted to throw up.  I played it cool on the phone but I was in complete panic mode.  I asked if she was sure and had she taken a test.  She said no.  She said she didn’t want to take a test at school because her roommates might see.  Which actually was a good lie given the circumstances.  She told me she was going to the doctor the next week and would find out for sure.  I remember Chet, Artemis' math tutor happened to be hanging out in our room that night. 

Chet was a big, goofy guy and actually one of the first Euphegenia people I ever met.  That summer before I started at the school I’d come down to visit Stacy for a few days since he had stayed there and found a job off campus.  He had fallen in love with independence the day he started Euphegenia and made sure that the day he left his parents house to begin his first semester was the last day he’d ever live at home again.  He had to work one of the days and I was sitting around with nothing to do in his campus apartment.  This big redheaded guy who looked like the son of the Ghost of Christmas Present showed up at the door one day looking for Stacy.  We struck up and conversation and watched television.  This was the summer the Coneheads movie came out and Dan Akroyd was on talk show promoting that and an issue of Playboy magazine where he appeared on the cover in full Beldar Conehead regalia.  I remember Chet, who didn’t know me from Adam saying “let’s go get that!” 

We didn’t.  I felt a little weird going out shopping for Playboys with a stranger I’d met at a Baptist college.  Instead we went to catch a matinee of the Paulie Shore opus, Son in Law.  Chet was also the first person I had ever met that wasn’t “an adult” who had a tattoo.  He had in fact just gotten one when I met him.  It should have been very telling actually.  You know older and wiser voices always warn you that if you’re hell-bent on getting inked, make sure it’s something meaningful.  Something you’ll still appreciate and feel proud of when you’re 80 and your skin is sagging and wrinkled beyond recognition.  Chet’s tattoo was a big Marvin the Martian on his leg.  I figure Chet must be pushing 40 now.  I’m wondering how he feels looking at Marvin every morning. 

That particular evening Chet was in our dorm room just sort of hanging out.  He had brought over Snoop Doggy Dog’s new CD, Doggy Style.  If that doesn’t date me . . . !  He and Artemis were listening to it in the background while I was in the hall with the phone chord wedged between the door and the doorframe.  This was about the most privacy you could get on a call in those days.  I could hear them inside cracking up at the lyrics and occasionally adjusting the volume up or down between the “fuck’s”, “bitches”, and “ho’s.”  God forbid had our house mother Angie decided to make rounds that evening.  That would have been a pleasant experience for all.  Kori and I wrapped up our extremely awkward and uncomfortable conversation, agreeing to take a few days to think and not call each other.  I was leaving for home the next day after finals anyway.  I said I’d call her on Tuesday after jer doctor’s appointment and we more or less just left it at that.  But when I walked back into the room it must have been pretty obvious on my face that things were not good.

“What’s up?” Artemis said, looking up from the lyrics of Gin & Juice.  “Was that Kori?”   

I knew I looked like I’d been kicked in the jingle bells for Artemis to actually notice, much less express concern.  He was a firm believer that emotion or concern expressed between men was, how did it put it?  Oh yeah, “gay.”

“Did you break up?” Chet chimed in.

“I tried,” I answered, bewildered.  “She said she’s late.” 

I don’t think Artemis knew exactly what she was late for at first.  Fortunately Chet, while I sure still a virgin as he was too much of a goon to have gotten laid, was worldly enough to know what I meant.  He had brought over Snoop “I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too” Dogg for fuck’s sake!  And I’m pretty sure Snoop wasn’t saying it was a rainy day in the LBC!

“You guys had sex?” he asked way too loudly for my comfort with our paper thin dorm walls. 

“Yeah,” I said.  “A few weeks ago.  Just once though.” 

“Man, don’t fall for that,” he said with a laugh and a dismissive wave.  “She ain’t pregnant.  They always pull that shit when you try to dump them.” 

While I wasn’t that comforted by Chet, man of the world that he was, it did give me some hope.  Did girls really do that?  Would they really lie about such a thing just to keep a guy?  It sort of made sense.  And Kori was just crazy enough.  Of course just as I was catching my breath, he kneed me in the gut again.

“Did you use a rubber?” he asked.  “Or just pull out?”  Jesus was he asking out of concern or was he taking mental notes? 

“Pulled,” I said, head hung in shame.  “It wasn’t exactly planned.”

“Well,” Chet said, seeing I looked about ready to throw up, “I doubt she’s pregnant.  The timing seems really suspicious.  Don’t sweat it.” 

Taking Chet’s advice, I set about the next few days telling myself she wasn’t really pregnant.  She probably wasn’t even late.  She was just desperately trying to cling to whatever would make me stay with her.  I went home to Wisconsin for Christmas break, trying to not even think about the situation.  Tuesday came and went.  She didn’t call.  By Thursday I hadn’t heard a word from Kori.  Finally, I called her completely freaking out.  She answered as nonchalant as if it was the library telling her a book she’d ordered was in.  I was beside myself.

“What’s going on?” I asked desperately, meaning what did the doctor say?

“Not much,” she said casually.  “A bunch of us went out last night.  I’m super tired.”

Super tired?  Went out???  Was she fucking kidding me?!?!

“Well what did the doctor say?” I demanded.

Let me admit right here that some of the conversations in this book have been paraphrased and/or summarized because obviously I don’t have transcripts.  I stand by the authenticity of the sentiment and events as well as the interpretations.  However, in this particular instance, I swear with my hand to Heaven, these are the exact words, verbatim, that came from the other end of that phone.  It’s been 19 years and I hear them as clearly as though she spoke them to me from the other side of this living room.

“Oh, I didn’t go,” she said.  “It was a false alarm.” 

Few times in my life have felt complete relief and eruptive rage all at one time.  Our love affair, relationship, whatever you want to call it ended that night on the phone.  I was not going to try to work it out with someone who was willing to lie about something that serious.  My nerves had been burning holes in my stomach lining for four days and she played it off like it was nothing.  One brief round of unsatisfying sex and both our lives could have been unalterably changed.  Accuse me of overreacting, but making an already confused 18 year old who has no clue where he’s going or what he’s doing with his life believe there’s a real chance he’s going to be a father is pretty reprehensible.  You might even call it, well, fucked up.     

Seems like that would be a great placed to stop talking about Kori just as it would have been the perfect place to have ended her chapter in my life.  Sadly, not so much.  The week after New Years, when the calendar turned to 1994, I had to get back to school.  I had signed up for what was known as the winter Post-Term session.  Post-Terms were two weeks of intense study of one class that that would normally be stretched over an entire semester.  There was one in the winter between terms, and one in the spring after the regular classes ended.  Our director Lane was teaching Acting I that January.  Two weeks of intense acting study sounded awesome to me.  A good release after a stressful semester of real classes, and the whole Kori debacle. 

My dad drove me back to school the Thursday before the week Post Term classes were set to begin.  I remember discovering the hard way that the school shut the heat off in the dorm during winter break to save money.  What they apparently forgot was Chicago gets FUCKING COLD!  I knew it felt cold in the hallway, but when I had to force my door open with my shoulder even when it was unlocked, only to discover the window was iced over, I began to question what I was going so deeply into debt over.  I was sitting on my bed, still wearing my coat and watching my own breath in the mirror.  I honestly didn’t know how I was going to be able to sleep there.  I walked up and down the floor but didn’t hear a hint of anyone else being back yet.  Apparently the other Post Term students weren’t coming back till the weekend.  Hopefully maintenance would get around to kick-starting the furnaces by Sunday.  The invite to go spend a couple days at my mom’s house, an hour to south had been extended, but I’d have to call and get one of them to pick me up.  I didn’t really want to do that.  There was an issue about a car.  They had bought me one when I turned 16.  A car they hadn’t seen but belonged to my stepmother’s parents who really wanted me to buy it, once they learned I had a guaranteed car allowance from my mom.  It was a relatively decent baby blue Plymouth.  But no sooner did I take possession than it started to develop a myriad of problems and we began having to dump a lot of money into it.  So my dad and stepmother, in their deep spirits of charity decided rather than continuing to help me, their son that they want to live with them so badly in his need, they’d donate the car to a boy’s ranch in upstate Wisconsin for what I can only imagine what was a nice tax write-off.  Of course they didn’t call my mom who paid for the car about it.  Why bother?  They’d just throw me to the lions.  It was not presented to me as a choice.  I was told one Saturday morning that we were driving it to a dealership that accepted donor cars for this ranch.  I had a job in a grocery store but I wasn’t making enough money to keep paying for car repairs.  And I had no say.  My mom and stepdad just handed me $1,500 for a car, sight unseen, and my dad couldn’t spare a couple hundred bucks here and there to keep it running? 

At any rate, it made me reticent to ever bring up the subject of needing a ride, or cars, or modern transportation in general to my mom or stepdad.  It was, the say the least, a sore subject.  And it was one I had no defense for.  Fortunately, as I sat there debating walking from Elgin to Naperville, as it couldn’t really be much colder, the phone rang.  It was my friend Bailey.  Well, we didn’t really know each other that well, but Artemis had informed me that she was interested.  She was a really pretty bi-racial girl.  She was thick but gorgeous.  Could have easily been a plus-sized model.  For some reason she was on campus picking up some stuff and had seen my dad dropping me off.  She and her friend Jenny were downstairs in the lobby and wanted to know if I was doing anything.  Hallelujah!  I told her the situation, that you could hang meat in my room, and there was a warm house in Naperville (with a hot tub) waiting for me if I could just get to it. 

They were about to head for her home in the southern suburb of Bourbonnais.  It wasn’t exactly what you’d call on the way, but she offered to give me a lift anyway.  I jumped at the opportunity.  I hadn’t even bothered to unpack from my trip so I just grabbed my keys and a few CD’s and ran for the stairs.  When we got to my folks’ house they were both at work so I told the girls to come on in and warm up before they had to get back on the highway.  Apparently this had already been part of some plan.  They both came in but Jenny disappeared rather quickly.  I was setting stuff down and Bailey called me over to point out my senior pic and tell me I should shave my goatee off.  Then without warning she was on me like a lioness on an antelope and we were making out in my parents living room.  It was nice.  A good distraction from the recent drama.  Although I wasn’t quite sure what the plan was, given that there was a third wheel lurking around.  But Jenny seemed to reappear just as soon as we broke our tongues apart and they both hugged me and got back in the car.  That was interesting, I thought scratching my head as I watched them driving away. 

That’s one of the aspects of college life, and life in your early twenties that I miss the most.  The freedom to make decisions at the drop of a hat.  I could jump in a car with two girls who just happened to be passing through campus and hitch a ride.  And not only did I get free transportation, I got to make out with one of them as well.  Nothing wrong with that.  It was fun.  It was exciting.  I was no Jack Kerouac but, all things in perspective.  From where I came, this was a big deal.  Sure my best friend was at Indiana University, and when he jumped in a car with a couple of girls, he woke up in New Orleans during Mardi Gras.  Yes, I was (and still am) jealous, but I had fun in my youth too.  And I was rubbing up against a lot more rules where I was.  And that was more than half the fun.

What wasn’t fun was what I discovered when I got back to school a couple days later and showed up for the first day of Post Term.  Guess who else had decided it would be fun to take an acting class and to take it over winter Post Term.  If you said my new ex-girlfriend Kori, you would be the big winner.  Or psychic.  There she was that first morning.  Eight hours a day for two weeks straight in a small theater, I would have to face her.  In a class where you’d be expected to drop all defenses, all inhibitions, and be completely open and vulnerable, it wasn’t going to help having Kori there.  It would be a cold winter term indeed.  In fact, on top of standing on a stage and staring at her all day, we would also experience a huge snow storm followed by record-cold temperatures just in the first week.  That was fun.