Skaters and Jocks did not mix.
On any given day you’d have found me sitting innocently on a street curb or at a skate park, but to those passing by I probably looked like a groupie. With my hairstyle, clothing preferences and choice of music I guess that’s what I was.
Skaters were peace loving sort of folks. The Jocks were mean and arrogant. I boycotted football games by the age of 13 promising to never attend such activities. I was secure in my world of nonconforming and I wasn’t about to let anyone change that. At 14 I had most of the answers to life and I would have told you as much if you’d have asked.
One sunny, but cold January day I was visiting my Dad when my step-sister received a call from a boy that wanted to be her friend…you get the picture. While covering the mouth piece on the much too large phone receiver, my step-sister whispered, “Shane has a friend at his house….and he is hot! Do you want to talk to him?” She quickly explained that he was a jock, but that he was ‘cool’.
Appalled at her gall, I said no thank you. I had a boyfriend. One who rode skateboards and was very good at it. But before I knew it the much too large phone receiver was thrust into my face with a huge grin. “He’s on…talk to him!”
With a chip on my shoulder I reluctantly took the phone.
Within 5 minutes I was making fun of his girlfriend, whom I’d never met. Her name was Buffy. I couldn’t help myself. I envisioned a fancy cheerleader type that followed him around to all his football games, and even worse I envisioned her with the typical late 80’s hairstyle….huge ‘buffy’ bangs. One thing that I was certain I would never have.
The conversation didn’t last long and the next day I was back at my Mom’s. It was a Monday night and I was watching a movie with a few of my skater friends, when the phone rang. I ran to the kitchen to answer it and when he said, “hey…it’s me”…..in a voice much to deep to come from a boy barely 14, I was speechless. Accusingly I questioned him, “How’d you get my number?!” And he did what he still does today, answer a stupid question with a question. “How do you think I got it?” Quickly I took his number promising to call him back when everyone was gone.
We talked every night after school for two weeks. Mostly we argued and debated, but whatever you call it, we did a lot of it until it was time to go back to my Dad’s house for the weekend. He said he’d go to Shane’s house again and we could meet that Saturday in person. Shane lived just around the corner from my Dad so after lunch my step-sister and I ventured out around the neighborhood.
Scared to knock on the door, I stayed in the yard pretending to busy myself squishing leaves on a tree. When he walked out the door….I knew I was in trouble. His eyes were the first thing I noticed. The sun was shinning right through them, they were so clear. His ripped up jeans and heavy metal t-shirt were a little much for me….but his eyes had me caught. What was I getting myself into?
The next day I told my mom I had met the boy I was going to marry. She laughed at me.
Now, 20 years later I still ask myself that question. What am I getting myself into?
I’d follow that handsome boy with clear eyes anywhere…..even to Portugal.