A long time ago, I created a mantra. This mantra has been an anchor of sorts; more than once, it has been the only thing solid in a life that had lost all form and function. When my heart breaks, this mantra rebuilds me. When my confidence wavers, this mantra stabilizes me. When my life loses direction, this mantra reminds me that “not all who wander are lost,” as J.R.R. Tolkien once said. This mantra is the core of who I am; everything I am, ego and all, is built around this fundamental concept:
Follow your heart, for regret is the heaviest of all weights.
This is the story of the day I created this mantra, but it is more than just the history of an eleven word phrase. This is a story of first loves, first heartbreaks, and the power of regret. This is the story of my greatest failure as a human being, and the story of my greatest shame.
Dramatis Personae
Alex (me) – the protagonist, referred to hereafter in the first person
Warren – one of the biggest slackers I ever knew, but a kind hearted and good natured friend
Arnold – more than my best friend, he was my veritable brother
Pandora – the girl
Arnold has not appeared in any of these anecdotes as of yet, but I assure you that he ranks as one of the most important people to have ever graced my life. He will be the subject of his own story, someday, but for now, here is what you need to know about Arnold:
1. Arnold is strong. Very strong (so strong his pseudonym for this blog is Arnold).
2. Arnold is older than I am. At the time of this tale, I was sixteen years old, and he eighteen. Anyone who can remember their youth can appreciate how important that two year difference can be. In my eyes, he was so much wiser than I was, so much more worldly.
3. Arnold is a damn good looking man. It is not just the muscles (though I am sure those certainly help), it is the definitive masculine features. The cheekbones, the jaw, the way he carried himself. It was no surprise to me that I almost never knew him to be without a girlfriend.
4. Arnold could do no wrong in my eyes. He was the first man I ever met that I considered my emotional and intellectual equal (though I would later be proven wrong), and he was very much the big brother I never had. I idolized him. I took everything he said at his word, as I had no reason to ever distrust him.
Pandora (the girl) will be better described in the story, but for now, I feel it pertinent to explain why I chose the moniker “Pandora.” The etymology is directly related to the name of this blog, if that is any indication to how powerful an influence she has been on my life.
For those who may not be familiar, there is a Greek myth that suggests all the mortal vices were locked in a container that was later opened by a curious woman named Pandora. When she opened this container, war, greed, hate, envy, lust, all that makes mortal men wicked and vain poured out, poisoning culture with their insidious influence. However, one thing remained in the container: hope.
I have read many versions of the story, and while most reference the container in question as a chest, the older sources I have found suggest it was actually a jar. If I am that jar, then she is most certainly Pandora. I will leave it to your imagination to cultivate any other relevant metaphors; I assure you, mine most certainly has.
I was sixteen, and I was about as shy as they come. If I got to know you, I was about as wacky as they make them, but I was very self-conscious of myself around strangers. Doubly so around girls. Triply so around strangers that were also girls. Quadruply so around people with X-ray vision who could read minds (we did not have anyone like that at school, but there was this one kid whom I often suspected of having those powers. I never did trust him, and always covered my loins with a trapper keeper when I passed by him, just in case. In my head, I would hum every show tune I could think of so as to confuse or befuddle his mind-reading attempts. The worst part was that, in doing so, I would inevitably get one of those show tunes stuck in my head, singing it over and over and over again. Then I would think “what if that’s what he wanted me to do!?” and then I would get all paranoid and start singing show tunes in my head again as a defense against his powers, only to get them stuck even further. High school; such a vicious cycle).
I shared my second period Health class with Warren, and it was in this class that I met Pandora. I forget exactly why this assignment fell under the domain of Health class, but we were assigned partners to emulate a newlywed couple (I believe the assignment was designed to educate us on the fine points of domestic partnership, but truthfully, I have no idea). Being a public school, the teacher was very careful as to make sure that every boy was paired up with every girl, and I can already tell what you are thinking. You are thinking that Pandora and I got paired up, and that is how everything started.
You would be wrong.
Due perhaps in part to my gender neutral name, or that a substitute teacher was in the day the “couples” were assigned, or the alignment of Mercury and Venus (my horoscope warned me that “strange attractions imminent” that day) in relation to Neptune and Pluto (Pluto was a planet back in those day), but I ended up getting paired with Warren as my partner.
Two things about Warren that are relevant to the telling of this tale; first, Warren is a boy. Second, he is homophobic.
Naturally, the fact that we were the only assigned “homosexual” couple in the class made us the butt (anal sex, get it?) of many a joke. It was plain to see that Warren was very upset by all this, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I played up every stereotype of a homosexual I could conjure, and yes, I admit it was most definitely offensive if there were any gays in our classroom, but it had the desired effect, which was to turn the class’s insults in on themselves (or, where that failed, at least directed them at me). The surest way to render bigotry impotent is to trivialize it, after all, and even though I was very shy at this age, I still had a very good sense of humor about myself. As such, my pyrrhic act of chivalry (if such a phrase can be coined) took the heat off my friend, but more importantly, it got the attention of Pandora.
The next day, compliments of the return of our regular teacher, the jokes about two boys being “coupled” together were naught but faint whispers in the corner, and to his credit, my friend took to the assignment with a much lighter heart as a result. The teacher apologized to us for the “mix-up,” we bargained for extra credit out of it only to be refused, and the class went by without a hitch.
At this point, I wish to extrapolate on the notion of my shyness. Specifically, how it manifested around women. I was sixteen, and I had never been kissed (romantically), nor had I ever asked a girl out. I was about as oblivious to the “signs” and subtleties of “the game” that it would be fair to say I did not even play. It was like everyone was playing Pictionary, only I was blind, had flopping fish for hands, and was only capable of guessing “orange” (orange you glad I did not say banana?). Still, despite my thundering incompetence at reading the fairer sex, even I could not miss that Pandora was casting many a smiling glance at me when she thought I was not watching.
When I say smiling glance, I want you to know exactly what I mean. Her eyes had a curious curve when they narrowed, almost as if she were grinning with her gaze. Combined with the fact that her lips would curl ever so slightly, it made for a wonderful gesture. Add to it the quick, flittering motion that her pupils made when they would rise up from her work and quickly glance back down, and it made a most dramatic impression.
The closest I can liken it to is when you sit near a colorful flower. You cannot look at the flower, but you can see it in the very corner of your peripheral vision. Almost imperceptibly, you notice a hint of vibrant blue, a color you know the flower is not. You want to look, you want to turn and see, but you know that to do so will be to startle that color into flight. You do not have to see it to know that a beautiful and radiant butterfly has alighted near your person, so you sit there, and you watch without watching. You see without seeing, and in your mind’s eye, its beauty truly shines.
When I say smiling glance, now you know exactly what I mean.
My heart raced, but my mind raced faster. I ran through all sorts of scenarios for what that glance could mean, or if it was even intended for me, and how I should follow up, or should I just play it cool?
I was young and had the self-confidence you might expect from a sixteen year old shy boy with absolutely no penchant for charm or social grace (which is to say none at all), so my initial course of action in response to all this was to seek the advice of my peers. With that, I went to Warren.
Me: “Warren, did you see the way Pandora was looking at me in Health class, today?”
Warren: “What are you talking about?”
Me: “She was totally looking at me!”
Warren: “Are you sure?”
Me: “No.”
Warren: “Why would she look at you? I mean, no offense, but she’s like the hottest girl in class.”
Me: “No, none taken, I don’t understand it, either. What do you think I should do?”
Warren: “If I were you, absolutely nothing.”
Me: “Makes sense. Thanks, Warren.”
Allow me to beat you to the punch; yes, I am an idiot. Forget what I said earlier; wherever you would expect an average sixteen year old boy to be, I was about four or five years below that. As such, I took Warren’s advice, and I did absolutely nothing.
We fast forward to the end of the week, and Warren’s advice makes a little more sense.
As he and I were walking out of class at the end of the period, he says, “I’ll catch up with you at lunch, I’m going to go talk to Pandora.” I say, “okay,” then make my way to third period, spending most of the walk cursing myself for not asking him to ask Pandora about me.
I meet up with Warren at lunch, and naturally I am all manner of curious as to how his conversation with Pandora went. My conversation with Warren went something like this:
Me: “So, Warren, how’d it go with Pandora?”
Warren: “Pretty good, man; I think she likes me.”
Me: *stunned silence*
Warren: “I think I’m going to ask her out.”
Me: *shockingly stunned silence*
Warren: “Some of the guys are getting together for some Smash Bros after school, today, you in?”
Me: “Okay.”
Pitiful.
A few periods later, I’m walking with Warren and Arnold down the hall, all of us anxious that it’s the last period before the weekend, when we bump into a guy that Warren knows, so we chat a little. Warren brings up Pandora, and this friend of his says something to the effect of “You don’t stand a chance, dude, she hasn’t dated anyone in over a year” to which Warren replies with, “I have this strategy, man. I know about her bad break-up freshmen year, but I’m going to be like water on stone; I’m gonna wear her down, you’ll see.”
There are times, rare as they are, when luck ceases to become this ethereal concept, and for a moment, brief and beautiful, it is a tangible and physical force. It can take many forms, but at this moment, it took the form of a rope; a rope Warren was using to hang himself with, as just as he said that, Pandora comes up from behind us, and says, “Water on stone, huh?”
Warren’s shot with Pandora was fired, and it could not have missed the mark worse than if he were actively aiming at his own foot.
Warren sighed a Charlie Brown sigh, and walked off with his buddy, but Arnold and I stuck around. I was hoping with every ounce of my being that Pandora had come over for something other than to eavesdrop and catch Warren red-handed in the kind of way that is usually only reserved for fiction, and such hope was not destined to be unfulfilled, as Pandora turned to me and asked “You know, I’ve noticed that we have the same lunch period. You should come over and have lunch at my table on Monday.”
I impressed myself in that moment. I kept calm and composed, and replied with “cool, have a good weekend.” The fact that I did not stand their mute as a ragdoll, or flail about madly like Kermit the Frog, or say something even remotely as incriminating as what Warren had just said struck me as nothing short of a miracle. Pandora and I locked eyes for but a moment, then she went along her way, leaving me feeling like Alexander must have felt as he conquered his way eastward; invincible, unstoppable, and all powerful. Then Arnold leaned in close and asked, very quietly, “That’s Pandora?”
“It is,” I said, with just the slightest hint of smugness.
“She’s pretty hot, man. And you’re having lunch with her on Monday?”
“I sure am,” I said, the cockiness growing ever so slightly.
“Can you put a good word in for me?”
And it all collapsed. Twice now in less than a week, friends of mine had sought after the girl I was obviously crushing on. To make matters worse, Arnold’s friendship meant the world to me; so much, in fact, that I was prepared to build him up to Pandora, even if that meant knocking myself out of the race. I was selfless to the point of self-destruction back then, and this was one of the more dramatic examples thereof.
Monday comes, and I have lunch with Pandora and her friends. Arnold had spent the night before drilling me on all the things I should say about him, and I felt like I was ready to ace this conversation. As I make my way to Pandora’s table, I see that she had saved a seat directly next to her. She pats it playfully, and about a quarter of the things Arnold told me fly right out the window. I take notice of the Superman shirt she’s wearing; a blue baby doll T with the characteristic Superman emblem fit snug around her form, and another quarter of what Arnold told me slips my mind. She says, “You’re Al, right?” and another quarter is gone. By now, about all I remembered of Arnold was his name, and that he wanted me to say SOMETHING. The conversation with Pandora went a little something like this:
Pandora: You’re Al, right?”
Me: “It is; you’re Pandora?”
Pandora: “Very good. What’d you bring for lunch, today?”
Me: “Lunch?”
Pandora: “Yeah, lunch. You don’t seem to have a bag from home or a tray from the cafeteria.”
Me: “Oh, I must have forgot.”
Pandora: *laughing* “How do you forget your lunch? Here, have some of my fries.”
Me: “Oh, thank you.”
Pandora: “You’re welcome. So, how’s your Health project coming?”
Me: “The domestic partnership thing? Not great. Warren’s pretty lazy, so I’m doing most of the work. I’ve been struggling with this petition I was going to mock-up to play on the whole ‘gay couple’ thing, but can’t find a way to make it funny, rather than insulting.”
Pandora: “Being gay is funny?”
Me: “It can be.”
Pandora: “Warren didn’t seem to think so.”
Me: “He’s just not used to it, I think.”
Pandora: “Well, maybe your continued jokes will be like water, and his ignorance stone.”
At this point, I was growing a little uncomfortable. Partly because it was becoming obvious she was a bit sore over what Warren had said the week before, but mostly because I had been actually participating in a conversation with Pandora in a more or less traditional fashion. It was going so well I was beginning to freak out.
Me: “Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t think Warren meant it.”
Pandora: “Meant what? Meant for me to hear it? I’m glad I did.”
Me: “Oh, well, great, then.”
Pandora: “Who is your friend with all the muscles? He keeps looking at us.”
Me: *turning to see Arnold very conspicuously looking in our direction* “Oh, that’s Arnold. OH, that’s Arnold! He’s a pretty great guy, actually. My best friend, in truth.”
Pandora: “He’s cute.”
Me: “Yeah, and he’s really nice, too. Friendly, smart, good natured.”
Pandora: “You’re cuter, though.”
Me: “He plays chess, he’s big into engineering, and he’s-“
Pandora: “And he’s not here. If I wanted to talk to Arnold, I’d go over and talk to him. I’m talking to you.”
Me: “Oh, right. Sorry.”
Pandora: “It’s okay. So what do you do for fun?”
The conversation carried on from there in a fairly banal flow, so we will skip the rest of it as I realize this is already a rather lengthy tale.
To summarize, I had two friends interested in Pandora who made plays for her affection, and from all outward appearances, Pandora had rejected them. I was bungling my way, awkwardly and clumsily, into her good graces. Another week of this, and we had our first date.
Our first date was to go see a movie I had already seen twice, but it was something she wanted to do, so I was not going to question it. In my infinite wisdom, I had stayed up the entire night before playing video games with Warren and a few friends (Arnold opted out; he was not so happy I got a date where he could not), so when the lights went out on a movie I had seen twice in the last week, even my excitement to be with Pandora could keep me from doing what I cannot believe, to this day, I did.
I fell asleep.
The movie we were watching in the theater was the first X-Men movie. I remember the scene where Sabertooth and Wolverine first encounter one another (roughly 10 minutes into the film), and then the next thing I recall is the credits. We followed it up with a trip to Rainbow Foods, where we wandered the grocery store for an hour, ultimately purchasing quirky toys for each other found at various end-caps in the store. She behaved as if she had not noticed that I fell asleep during the movie, though I knew it was impossible for her to have missed it.
We finished with dinner at the Subway I worked at. We ordered our food, I got some playful ribbing from a few coworkers, then Pandora and I sat down. As I was beginning to eat, one of my less liked co-workers called me over. I excuse myself, and head over to see what he wants. Loudly enough for everyone to hear, especially Pandora, he says, “Dude, I can’t believe you ordered onions on your sandwich. Now she’s not going to want to kiss you!”
Awesome, thanks for that, asshole. I felt that sleeping through half the date was a good enough reason for her to never want to kiss me, ever. But thank you for adding my choice of sandwich toppings into the mix; maybe they can fight it out for who gets to claim the honor of being responsible for the greatest act of sabotage on a first date. It’ll be great; we’ll film it, and I can sell it as a “dating do’s and don’ts” help video.
I sarcastically thank him for the advice, and head back to the table, trying my best not to literally die of embarrassment, when I see that Pandora had not been idle while I was away. On her napkin, she had created a face out of a tomato, a pickle, some black olives and green peppers. It was actually a pretty good likeness, considering. Once I sit back down, she pushes the napkin over to me, and says “His name is Habib. He likes you.”
For those who know me, you can imagine how “up my alley” that was. For those of you who do not, simply know that she was knocking my socks off with her quirky antics. This was the kind of girl I had been dreaming about, and it was twice as painful to know that I would not be getting a second date out of this.
We finished up, and went our separate ways. For all that happened that night, I can honestly say that the greatest surprise came the next school day when she talked to me just before class.
“I had a nice time with you the other night. When can we do it again?” she asked.
I wish I could say that I had something smooth to reply with, or at least something sensibly polite, but instead, my mouth just hung agape for a full three seconds before I, and I kid you not, said “I did not see that coming.”
If I could go back in time and visit the “me” in that moment, I would chuckle softly to him and say, “buddy, you ain’t seen nothing, yet.”
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