Dangerous Liaisons

How did I emerge unscathed?

In my pre-adult days... How many times did I put myself (unknowingly) into potentially dangerous situations. Unfortunately, more times than I care to remember. Except one particular incident came to mind this morning, and I’ve been trying to forget it ever since, quite unsuccessfully. When I was 14 going on 15, I became enamoured with an older guy, an 18 year old. Looking back, I wonder what in the world a, for all intents and purposes, man saw in a newly minted teenager, but it’s best not to overthink that.

It was 1995. The summer loomed before me, brimming with countless possibilities. I didn’t know it at the time, but I’d be moving to a different town, several hours away, in the fall. I encountered him, “John” at a teenage dance. He asked me to dance to a slow song. I had a crush on him so I was thrilled. The next thing I knew, we were kissing in the middle of the dance door like there was no tomorrow. To my recollection, he was the second guy I’d ever really kissed so I totally fell into the inexperienced category. I wasn’t even sure if he was sober or knew exactly who I was. He may not have been sober, but he did know my name. I checked several times. That was good enough for me.

Throughout the summer, we’d meet around town and drive off to go make out in his truck. My friends told me he was bad news, but I didn’t care. I liked him. The river was a favorite spot to park. It had secluded going for it and a romantic atmosphere. My adult self screams, “what were you thinking parking with a guy, with probably only one thing on his mind, in such a secluded area?” to my 14 year old self. Young me was just over the moon to have this cool guy paying me any attention. Like I said, I was terribly innocent. And, to his credit, he didn’t really try anything with me. One night, he slipped his hand in my shorts, but the minute he reached the short and curlies, I pulled away in complete shock.

Then, I found out he was taking another girl parking on the same nights as me AFTER he brought me home. I confronted him and that was that. Except for one night, a few months later, when I had a moment of weakness, and we made out at a dance. He was a good kisser, and I really liked kissing.

If I hadn’t been such a prude set on protecting my virtue... oh the trouble I might’ve found in those days. Luckily, the few other dicey situations I landed in didn’t end badly either.

But it made me think about how my view of the world has changed since I was the innocent 14 year old. And, really, why kids take such risks with their lives. Lying down in the middle of the road to play chicken. Joyriding in the back of a pickup truck. Leaving the bar late at night to catch a cab alone. Not that I ever did any of those things.

Examining human nature becomes second nature to a writer. We’re always asking questions about what we observe around us. Why do people do the things they do? I postulate. And it doesn’t always make sense. Not by a long shot. But what would be the fun in that?

"she leads a lonely life" or does she?

It occurred to me that I prefer to write alone.

I can stare off into the distance. I can jab accusingly at the hypnotically blinking cursor on my computer screen. I can talk to myself without getting an external response.

I'm an uncomplicated person. I have no desire to shroud myself in drama. Yet, in doing so, I miss experiencing the conflict which could potentially translate into the crux of a story. Or do I?

I see the discord around me as inspiration.

Last year, I observed a married couple—let's call them Vicky and Tim—who arrived separately, for months, at school—each picking up one son—and leaving without speaking to each other. I immediately considered the motivation behind such actions. Even if Vicky and Tim had arrived in separate cars, coming from opposite directions, they would still speak to each other at school. Wouldn't they? A disagreement would explain a few, but not all, incidents. So would leaving quickly due to after-school commitments or inclement weather. I knew the only explanation was that Vicky and Tim had separated. Before the end of the school year, Vicky bought a new house. My evidence was still circumstantial until I heard via the Social Media grapevine that Vicky was newly single.

Do you give the strangers you encounter a back story? The harried-looking woman in the grocery store with three screaming toddlers in tow. The group of young boys sitting under the tree, making obnoxious comments at the young girls—possibly classmates—walking by. The older woman walking her dog, staring blankly into the distance. Who are these people? What happened in their life? What brought them to this point?

I quietly observe.

I set myself apart. I am more comfortable standing in quiet solitude than making urbane small-talk. It is easy to mistake the state of being alone for loneliness. Think the Ace of Base song "All That She Wants" and its apt lyrics.

She leads a lonely life 

She leads a lonely life 

When she woke up late in the morning light

And the day had just begun

She opened up her eyes and thought

Oh what a morning

Loneliness is a matter of prespective. In the quiet of my mind, I have the freedom—and privilege—to create these amazing characters and the ability to tell their stories.