The Boyfriend List, Pt. 3
3. Marcus Marx
(I really like the name Marcus -- I guess because it reminds me of Megan Mc Cafferty's Marcus Flutie -- but just so we're clear: this guy was not, is not and will never be the Marcus to my Jessica.)
I was pretty pissed off by my heart's propensity to fall in love with boys so easily -- having been raised in an all-girls institution -- that I made the decision to transfer to a co-ed Christian school towards the end of my freshman year in high school.
Disclaimer: it wasn't just to master the art of interacting with the male species. I'm not that kind of girl. (But I do admit that I was very, very curious.) Primarily, I made the leap because, at this point, I had gotten to know God and decided that I liked Him enough to get to know Him better.
On the first day in my new school, I sat quietly in my chair, a complete stranger among a sea of longtime friends, and scoped the room for cute boys. For the first time ever, I was co-existing with people of the opposite sex and I was scared out of my mind. I was so petrified, in fact, that I stopped eating for an entire summer, surviving only on bits of gum, bread and water.
It was the thinnest I had ever been.
After everyone had settled down and I had decided that none of the guys in the room were crush-worthy, a boy burst in a few minutes after the bell had rung. Everyone else was dressed in the required school uniform of pants/skirt and a tie but he was wearing rubber shoes, jeans and a blue shirt. He was reprimanded and sent to a desk on the far side of the class.
Oh, I forgot to mention: he also happened to be the cutest guy my boy-deprived teenage self had ever been lucky enough to get stuck in a room with.
It was crush at first sight.
He had dark brown hair, a well-sculpted nose, nice teeth, a fair complexion and, I have to admit, a pretty attractive face. He didn't look like anyone I had ever met. I was instantly smitten.
By this time, King Raymond and I were still very good friends but I had conceded to the fact that that was all it would ever be. Because of that realization, I was ready to move on from my big unrequited love and being classmates with Marcus made that transition possible.
Seeing each other every day -- being groupmates, study buddies and, at the heart of it all, friends -- made liking him so treacherously easy. When you're a teenager, you're prone to giving in to every emotional whim and mine was inclined to fall for the boy in the blue shirt and jeans.
It didn't help that Marcus also happened to be a naturally sweet guy. The I'll-walk-you-to-your-locker kind. I'll-carry-your-books-and-bring-you-home-and-when-you're absent-I'll-call-you-with-the-homework kind. It was this kind of sweetness that frightened me because I could never really tell if he liked me as a friend or as something more.
One afternoon, in between a text conversation about our Biology exam and our least favorite classmates, the words just slipped out from the both of us. (Seriously: is there anything worse than a confession of love via text?) On that day, I SWEAR hail fell from the sky.
Nobody remembers this but me. It could've been a sign of foreshadowing from the heavens but I was just too lovesick to notice.
Marcus became my first (and only official) boyfriend. I was fifteen-years-old.
To be honest, a relationship with Marcus was like a trip to the mall. Exciting, at first. But after awhile, monotonous and tedious. We'd see each other every day, talk on the phone every day, hang out every weekend, all the while maintaining the reality that we were both two fifteen-year-olds still trying to find our place in the world.
To this day, it still surprises me that we lasted as long as we did. (Eight months.)
He was every bit a romantic as you could hope a teenage boy to be (I got letters, flowers, candy, jewelry, surprises on my birthday and invitations to mini-excursions) but he was still a teenage boy. And in the end, he refused to be tied down. I don't blame him. It was painful because I was severely attached to him -- as any young girl would be if she had gone through an entire school year with the same boy by her side -- but I was kind of glad, too.
Because by the time Marcus broke up with me (technically, he didn't break up with me. He straight out disappeared. One day, we were supposed to go out and the next thing I know, I find out from his cousin that he's on a bike trail in the mountains. The next time I saw/heard from him was the first day of the new school year. Douchiest move ever.), King Raymond had made a private declaration over the phone and all my repressed feelings of unrequited love suddenly found their way back to the surface.
(to be cont'd.)
(I really like the name Marcus -- I guess because it reminds me of Megan Mc Cafferty's Marcus Flutie -- but just so we're clear: this guy was not, is not and will never be the Marcus to my Jessica.)
I was pretty pissed off by my heart's propensity to fall in love with boys so easily -- having been raised in an all-girls institution -- that I made the decision to transfer to a co-ed Christian school towards the end of my freshman year in high school.
Disclaimer: it wasn't just to master the art of interacting with the male species. I'm not that kind of girl. (But I do admit that I was very, very curious.) Primarily, I made the leap because, at this point, I had gotten to know God and decided that I liked Him enough to get to know Him better.
On the first day in my new school, I sat quietly in my chair, a complete stranger among a sea of longtime friends, and scoped the room for cute boys. For the first time ever, I was co-existing with people of the opposite sex and I was scared out of my mind. I was so petrified, in fact, that I stopped eating for an entire summer, surviving only on bits of gum, bread and water.
It was the thinnest I had ever been.
After everyone had settled down and I had decided that none of the guys in the room were crush-worthy, a boy burst in a few minutes after the bell had rung. Everyone else was dressed in the required school uniform of pants/skirt and a tie but he was wearing rubber shoes, jeans and a blue shirt. He was reprimanded and sent to a desk on the far side of the class.
Oh, I forgot to mention: he also happened to be the cutest guy my boy-deprived teenage self had ever been lucky enough to get stuck in a room with.
It was crush at first sight.
He had dark brown hair, a well-sculpted nose, nice teeth, a fair complexion and, I have to admit, a pretty attractive face. He didn't look like anyone I had ever met. I was instantly smitten.
By this time, King Raymond and I were still very good friends but I had conceded to the fact that that was all it would ever be. Because of that realization, I was ready to move on from my big unrequited love and being classmates with Marcus made that transition possible.
Seeing each other every day -- being groupmates, study buddies and, at the heart of it all, friends -- made liking him so treacherously easy. When you're a teenager, you're prone to giving in to every emotional whim and mine was inclined to fall for the boy in the blue shirt and jeans.
It didn't help that Marcus also happened to be a naturally sweet guy. The I'll-walk-you-to-your-locker kind. I'll-carry-your-books-and-bring-you-home-and-when-you're absent-I'll-call-you-with-the-homework kind. It was this kind of sweetness that frightened me because I could never really tell if he liked me as a friend or as something more.
One afternoon, in between a text conversation about our Biology exam and our least favorite classmates, the words just slipped out from the both of us. (Seriously: is there anything worse than a confession of love via text?) On that day, I SWEAR hail fell from the sky.
Nobody remembers this but me. It could've been a sign of foreshadowing from the heavens but I was just too lovesick to notice.
Marcus became my first (and only official) boyfriend. I was fifteen-years-old.
To be honest, a relationship with Marcus was like a trip to the mall. Exciting, at first. But after awhile, monotonous and tedious. We'd see each other every day, talk on the phone every day, hang out every weekend, all the while maintaining the reality that we were both two fifteen-year-olds still trying to find our place in the world.
To this day, it still surprises me that we lasted as long as we did. (Eight months.)
He was every bit a romantic as you could hope a teenage boy to be (I got letters, flowers, candy, jewelry, surprises on my birthday and invitations to mini-excursions) but he was still a teenage boy. And in the end, he refused to be tied down. I don't blame him. It was painful because I was severely attached to him -- as any young girl would be if she had gone through an entire school year with the same boy by her side -- but I was kind of glad, too.
Because by the time Marcus broke up with me (technically, he didn't break up with me. He straight out disappeared. One day, we were supposed to go out and the next thing I know, I find out from his cousin that he's on a bike trail in the mountains. The next time I saw/heard from him was the first day of the new school year. Douchiest move ever.), King Raymond had made a private declaration over the phone and all my repressed feelings of unrequited love suddenly found their way back to the surface.
(to be cont'd.)