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It is like a good book. In a way I want to get to the end quickly, but at the same time I know once I get there I will wish there was more.
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Yeah, blackwolve, I thought there might be some confusion. I didn't meet my Beloved until my second year in college.
It is an amusing parallel, though. That comes later. I probably won't talk too much about my true love in this; it's a different story.
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I wondered if that might be the case, blackwolve, but I thought that I remembered her saying at some point that they'd bet in college, so I was pretty sure that it was a different guy.
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Oh, wow, it's not the same Ron? I was beginning to get that impression although now that you mention it, Noemon, I remember that too...but this whole time I was thinking Ronnie was Mr. Olivia -of-the-future, heh. Some luck with names, eh?
And hell, thanks for sharing it all. I'm reading it with great interest, it's a powerful and well-told story, I think. Kindness is the least we can do Posts: 17164 | Registered: Jun 2001
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I did refer to him many, many times as Ronnie Ellis, though I admit I erred in not pointing out explicitly that he was not the man I married. I always knew my husband as "Ron" until I came more into contact with his family (where they call him "Ronnie" and his father "Ron").
Ronnie Ellis was interesting because his actual birth certificate said "Ronnie", which may have been a way of naming him after his mother, Bonnie. *shrug* His father's name was Carroll. The Ellis Family is a very tight (but large) Irish family who settled originally in Upper Shell Creek, pretty much on the border with North Carolina.
I think I may have to scan some pictures...
But thanks for not slapping me around too much for being vague. I thought it was clear in the beginning, but it has dragged on too long for it to stick. I should've been more careful.
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Oh, I didn't think it was your fault at all. I was just surprised. It's your story and you're telling it wonderfully, so I'm not going to complain at all about the way you're telling it.
I really hope that sentence makes sense.
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D'oh! Of course, not Ronnie F., Ronnie E. Heh. Well now you and KQ have given me an inferiority complex Posts: 17164 | Registered: Jun 2001
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I admit I'd been wondering this whole time how many people would be thinking Ronnie and Ron were one and the same.
By the way, Olivia, your son left a maraca at our apartment. In case he wonders where it is. Oh, and the wireless issue was totally on our end (fixed now). And dictionary.com has imaum as another spelling for imam, but not imaam.
You may return to your regularly scheduled thread.
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I just forgot how many people here know just enough about me (like, say, my husband's first name) to bring with them certain suppositions.
Ron knew Ronnie, though. Ronnie was one of those friends that you just don't let go of completely. My own Beloved Ron, the father of my children, was not at all threatened by Ronnie.
He's just that secure.
Again, it really was my bad, but I hope that's all cleared up now. I shall attempt another post this weekend.
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Yeah, Ron looked it up, too. Imaum. Imaam is actually a proper name, I think.
Anyway, the wee one loved his musical instruments! Though I wondered, briefly, if giving him a tamborine, drum, maracas and a harmonica was not some sort revenge on Ron for the hard-fought and sometimes acrimonious Scrabble tournaments. Posts: 9293 | Registered: Aug 2000
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Okay, just a bit tonight, because I'm sick and I won't be able to finish the next part of the story tonight. So it's short and boring, but at least I'm still working on it.
Things were pretty much the same at school, except the poems in my locker were written by Ronnie instead of the guy in Econ who chewed with his mouth open. We danced around the topic of the Prom. I told him the truth, which was that I wasn’t sure I wanted to go at all. Not just with him, but to the Prom in general. It seemed pointless to dress up so a bunch of people (most of whom I either didn’t know or didn’t like) could admire me. I mean, somebody remind what these things are for?
I went to several of the college formals, because that was fun. It was the same thing – dress up, have a fancy meal and dance — but by college… I was different. I felt I belonged. I had a sense of being amongst friends and well-wishers (whether or not that was actually the case is another story).
In any case, I was evasive. Ronnie still had his stuff that he did and I still had the stuff that I did. We saw each other at church, but he wasn’t always coming over or anything.
He was a good friend, but the more I pondered what life with him would be like, the more wigged I got. He was funny, but he wasn’t terribly talented in any obvious way. I mean, I figured if he made enough slasher movies, he’d eventually get good at it. But then he’d just be good at something I wasn’t really capable of appreciating.
One day, I finally told him. “Look, we’re going to college soon. Different colleges, in different cities, probably.” I knew he would be going to King – he wouldn’t have met their entrance requirements even if he had the money, which I suspected he did not. I was still working out the scholarships. My Senior IB English teacher was friends with the head of the Fine Arts department, and she had already met me when I visited the campus. Eventually she requested me for a workstudy, and other stuff fell into place.
The military wouldn’t even pay for Ronnie to go to college (which was okay, because he would have rather cut off a finger than be a soldier) because he admitted he’d taken drugs. He could get funding to go to the state school, though. Anyway, I’d be an hour or more away, with no car.
I told him that things were going to change soon, and that I was going to be concentrating on school. I didn’t plan to date anyone seriously for quite a while. I kept it very light; I was careful of his feelings, but honest.
The year was running by quickly, with all the end-of-term dinners and things – I had to go to the Honor Society thing and the Top Ten students thing, Student Government and Advanced Art parties. I hated that stuff, but I was always into meeting my obligations. Ronnie avoided anything that even sounded like an obligation. We were extremely different people.
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Ronnie was great friend, and in that way, I loved him. But… he smelled funny. It’s sad to say, but that was the crux of it. My mother loved him. He fit in fine with my family; I was comfortable with him.
But beyond that initial moment of curiosity, I had zero desire to kiss him. Not that I minded it, but it wasn’t something that it generally never occurred to me to do. Marriages have been built on less, I suppose. But even back then, I knew I didn’t want MINE to be.
He had feelings for me that I could never return, but neither of us could bear to make that clean cut. Here is where the long, painful dance that was our real relationship began. It lasted a very, very long time.
One morning, while putting things in my locker (directly outside the Art Room door) I saw Chris Range walking quickly after a girl I knew named Angie.
Angie was one of the Lit geeks I sometimes hung out with in the Lit office my Junior year (and occasionally as a Senior, though my home room was far away, by then). Oddly enough, a large number of the Lit Geeks were named either Amy (Aimee, Ami, ad infinitum) or Angie (there was also Theresa, who I referred to as a “Hermione” in Speech and Drama. She doesn’t come into play much in this story, but I really liked her, though we didn’t talk much). THIS particular Angie was athletic, with a light, sun-kissed tan that said she spent lots of time outdoors. She was fresh-faced and never wore make-up. She was one of a very few girls in school who was significantly taller than me (I was 5’8” then, but that was a few car accidents ago ). She liked to ride horses – I think she had one of her own.
Anyway, Chris was walking after her. His stride was impressive, but then, he was like, 6’4” (150lbs). She was walking fast, looking forward with one hand sort of flapping behind her. It was an amusing combination of ignoring him, and the classic “talk to the hand” and “shoo” gestures. It took me all of 2 seconds to register this, raise an eyebrow, and go on about my business.
Most of the Advanced Art class students were Seniors; I have mentioned that Chris was in that class. He was not sorted to my table, so I never talked to him all that much. I was with the ‘arty’ group of students who pursued mostly drawing and painting, fashion and design. He, being more interested in film, was sorted with the more practical art students, screen printers, cartoonists and the like. ( )
Partway into the class, a bit of a row broke out at the other table, between Chris and everyone else. It seemed to me (I had been engrossed in my work and generally ignoring the noise) that he was being picked on. Mrs. Hoilman made him switch seats with Ricky Mathes, which I thought was a bad idea. Ricky, being gay, was the natural prey of most of the Deca Hall rednecks; however, these guys were also artists, and they had accepted Igor, the Basque Thrasher/Exchange student with hardly any trouble (Well, there was once when one of the opined that surely even a Spaniard had to admit that the U.S was the Greatest Country on Earth… I put my arms around both of them and said, “We’re all brothers, here.” They didn’t buy that, but it made them laugh so at least they didn't pummel each other).
Okay, the real truth is that I liked Rick Mathes better than Strange Range. Rick was easier to talk to, because he was gay. There was none of that subtext boy-girl stuff that so utterly confused me. Range wasn’t gay, and by the look of things was in th throes of some unpleasant boy-girl stuff. But, there he was.
I spent a good bit of the class talking to him quietly while I worked, coaxing the story out of him. He told me he was a Pantheist, which he explained as “god is nature and nature is god.” On a hike over the weekend, god/nature had spoken to him, revealing that Angie (incidentally the tallest girl his age in the whole county) was Meant for him.
“And you told her this?” I was shocked. Not that ‘God had told him’ she was ‘the one for him’ – I’d heard THAT one often enough.
Pardon my digression, but this begs for further examination. I believed (and on some level, still do) that the Divine does speak to us, sometimes, if we care to listen. However, I had a hard time buying that god spent so much of his time pre-occupied with telling teenaged boys who, exactly, they could legitimately shag in the future. Certainly it shows that the boys I hung out with were maybe more religious than average (if “on TV” = Average).
In my more cynical moments, it led me to postulate that God really does speak to men through their penises. That at least explained why Prophets and religious leaders of almost every religion were male. Chicks don’t have the necessary antenna to receive the Big Messages.
Please forgive me if that sounds bitter, but if I had a nickel for every time some boy had a ‘revelation’ that I was ‘the One’ , I could buy me a nice cup of coffee. Not the cheap, diner coffee (free refills), but a nice Venti Caramel Macchiato, double shot, with a splash of soy milk.
“Why shouldn’t I tell her? If God said it’s true, then it’s true,” he said.
“Leaving aside the question of Divine Revelation,” (and I wanted to leave it FAR aside) “a girl likes to feel she has some say in these matters. Which is probably the big reason she rejected you, besides it being a really weird thing to say.”
“But why would God lie to me?” He really looked distressed. I punt a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I promise you, he didn’t lie to you, Chris. Either he didn’t actually speak to you at all, or he did speak to you and the time is not now. If it was a message from God, then it stands to reason that she’ll eventually get one, too. If it wasn’t – and this is honestly the answer I favor – you’ll be embarrassed for a while, but you’ll get over it.”
He wasn’t happy about that little pep-talk. *wince* I had NEVER been so glad to hear the bell ring the end of Art class as I was that day.
As it turns out, this was not the last 'revelation' Chris would ever get, and I was in for a very, very long day.
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Yeah, I always called him "Chris" because I usually didn't call people by their last names, and "Strange" just seemed cruel. I should have referred to him in this piece as "Strange Range" or "Chris 'Strange' Range" for consistency's sake.
But I generally didn't use nicknames, though I did occassionaly refer to Pondscum as Pondscum, usually I used his Christian name (though I have chosen not to share it here).
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I've never had any guys tell me I was "meant for them." *pouts* The preferred hitting-on method of my experience is more along the lines of, "You're hot, can I have your phone number?" At least divine revelation has the caveat of being somewhat imaginative. Posts: 952 | Registered: Jun 2005
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"At least divine revelation has the caveat of being somewhat imaginative."
In some circles, though, I hear it's almost passe. They'd probably take "you're hot; can I have your phone number?" as a revelation.
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It was passe... and I was NOT hot. Hot, in most cases, implies the presence of boobies
Boys look at hot girls and think of one thing, generally. Boys looked at me as if there was a grail-shaped beacon behind me, and envisioned a life of happy sacrifice, yoked together with me at the Divine Plow.
I'm not entirely sure it should be seen as a compliment.
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fantastic Olivet, that's the best ending ever, now will you go back to where you said you were half way through, and double it?
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Did you serve the pie to anyone? Was it a Hannibal Lecter or a Titus Andronicus situation?
If you can't finish it, don't worry - I'm sure Hatrack could finish it for you, albeit probably rather far off the mark and with lots of puns and silliness. But I hope you can!
*hugs* for Olivet
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You really don't have to, but we probably will all have guesses, and i know I'd like to hope most of mine aren't true, if you'd like I can post those, so you can see where you are taking us.
Being a butt is fun, especcially if you can do it in a slinky red dress
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Olivet, you don't need to post any more. I'm enjoying reading the story but since I know that the "end" of the story is you going to the Ritz for a fancy dinner date with your husband (even though your husband is not the boy you're writing about), I don't need to know how this part of the story "ends." I can just write "and she lived happily ever after."
quote:Hot, in most cases, implies the presence of boobies
Not for me. I say I like boobs, like people say "War is bad". It never seems to actually bear on whether or not a girl is 'hot' though. It definitely doesn't hurt though.
I haven't mentioned it before, but you are an absolutely compelling storyteller. I can't remember anything this specific about high school, and I was there a lot more recently than you were. Well, maybe not a lot more recently, but definitely more recently-er.
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Okay, here goes. Please forgive the melodrama from before. Some of these memories are uncomfortable places for me, though perhaps not for the reasons you may think.
One more note: I admit it may not have been the same day, but it was within a very short time that the events I will describe took place. For the purpose of the story, I’ll say it was the same day, though I lack certainty on that score.
On with the story:
Everything went on as usual until lunchtime, which started in an ordinary way. I got my lunch, and approached my usual table. When I got there, I noticed Ronnie sitting just down from the end, with enough space for me to slide in beside him. That was usual, I guess. But Chris/Strange Range was sitting at the head of the table. I didn’t remember the tables having seats in that position, so I think he was sitting on a stool.
That was odd.
Chris and Ronnie appeared to be having a very animated conversation, with lots of hand movement and aggressive body postures. The talk stopped suddenly when they both looked up and saw me.
That was also odd.
Now, I’m not stupid, but I must admit (and have repeatedly) to a certain amount of deliberate cluelessness when it comes to the opposite sex. This tendency of mine was much more pronounced at age 17, certainly.
My usual lunch table was populated by a variety of people, but lately, more and more of them had turned out to be male. I was oblivious to the shift. That day, there were no other girls there when I sat down. Chris didn’t usually sit with us, even though he was one of Ronnie’s closer friends, and when he DID it was usually on the other side.
Down the table I noticed Larry, form Advanced art. Quiet guy, who oddly enough resembled Taalcon, now that I think of it (in manner as well as general appearance). I think what reminds me most of Taalcon is the way he had of smiling like he knew the Secrets of Everything, but was too shy to tell anyone.
Bill, he of the clacking retainer in Geometry class, who always wore the same John Cougar Mellancamp t-shirt. I had also had anatomy and physiology, and microbiology with him that year, but he never spoke to me. He was always around but when I spoke to him he’d hardly speak back. He kind of creeped me out.
I sat down, trying to get a bead on what the heck was going on. Chris spoke, and Ron called him names. I was shocked. I’m not sure how long they went on sniping at each other, once they had started again. I finally stopped it.
“Ronnie, what is the matter with you? I thought you guys were friends!” I turned to Chris. “If y’all are fighting, then why did you sit here? You don’t usually eat with us.”
I glanced around the table, but no one offered to explain what was going on. They started up again.
I had lost my appetite.
“Fine. You guys fight all you want, but I’m not going to listen to it.” I turned in my tray, and headed for D Hall, to my locker. As I left the lunchroom, I realized Chris was following me, about six feet behind. I stopped and turned around. He stopped, but didn’t say anything.
I took another step. He took another step. I stopped. He stopped. Then I walked back to him.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
He thought for a second, all the time with this goofy smile on his face. “I’m courting you.”
I was speechless, for a bit. Then I laughed.
“No you’re NOT. You’re following me, and creeping me out.”
It must have taken great courage to say what he said. I realize that now. In a few sentences, he explained to me that he believed I was the One for Him.
I told him he was nice and all, but hadn’t gotten the memo. Then he asked me to the prom.
“Ronnie already asked me to the prom.”
“But you didn’t say yes.”
“I said I wasn’t planning on going to the prom.”
He shrugged, probably having sussed out that I would go to the prom if asked by the right guy. I think I might have, but it didn’t happen. I was twitterpated over Pondscum, two years younger than me, AND dating one of my other best friends. (I had seen, from their relationship, that he would not make a good a boyfriend, but twitterpation is not a rational condition.)
The boy I liked couldn’t ask me to the prom, because he wasn’t a Senior, so it was kind of a moot point, to me. But not to everyone else, because no one else knew about my secret crush, and almost no one would ever know. Until now, I guess.
I went back to the lunchroom with Chris behind me as if tethered by a six foot invisible rope, and took Ronnie aside.
“I hate that you are fighting over me. I mean, you guys are best friends.” They snorted and looked away. “I mean it. I’d rather never speak to either one of you ever again than have this go on because of me. It’s just stupid.”
I know now that it was a dumb idea, but I offered to go with both of them, sort of like a group date, or something. They were both very much opposed to this, so I ran for my locker, sensing that Chris would follow instead of hanging around and coming to blows with Ronnie.
I managed to avoid them both for the rest of the day, but I had a surprise waiting for me at the end of my optional 7th period class.
Which I will tell you about when I have more time.
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I just think people don't want to slog through individual posts that are overlong. I mean, *I* don't, usually. Posts: 9293 | Registered: Aug 2000
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Actually, it's a bit more like reading a good fanfic -- with a CLIFFHANGER after every bit, and an irregular posting schedule! Posts: 32919 | Registered: Mar 2003
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Wel, I thank you all for saying such nice things.
I will get right back to it as soon as I take care of some personal business that will make me crazy until at least tomorrow night. So much to do...
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I had kind of told Ricky T. (the sophomore with trumpeter’s calluses) about my lunchtime nightmare, between sixth and seventh period. Seventh Period was a Spanish class – a lower level one, since my Christian School Spanish hadn’t been transferable – and I believe Ricky was actually in that class with me. In any case, Ricky was beside me when the class left the pod as group.
Pods were separated areas with classrooms off them. Classrooms emptied into the pod, which was connected to the hall, so that no classrooms in A B or C halls emptied directly into the halls. D hall was different, but that doesn’t matter because this was A Hall.
Leaning against the corner of a bank of lockers, across the hall from the pod opening, was Chris Range. I slowed down a bit, but I was basically on him just after I saw him. It was too late duck out of sight. There was nowhere to go. Luckily, my locker had jammed on me three times that day. I turned to my sweet little Ricky, who had fixed it for me once before.
“Ricky, my locker’s doing that thing again. Would you mind helping me fix it?” I made Meaningful Eye Contact as I said it. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Sure.” He smiled, getting my drift.
Not that Ricky (who might have been 5’8” when he was twenty and delivering pizza to my Beloved and me) was all that imposing. I wasn’t afraid of Chris hurting me, exactly, but he WAS acting weird and I just wasn’t sure.
“Hey, Chris,” I said as he straightened up and approached me. “I didn’t know you had a seventh period class.”
“I don’t. I was waiting for you.”
*cringe*
“My locker has a problem, and Ricky is going to fix it for me.” I tried to casually explain why Ricky was with me, and that he was going to be with me all the way to my locker and back. My ride always waited outside the A Hall exit, since the others were locked after 6th period. That D Hall locker was a SEVERE pain, since it was on the other side of the campus, but that day I had to go back for some books.
“I could take a look at it,” Chris offered.
“There’s a trick to it,” Ricky said. “I tried to show her-“
“But I just couldn’t get it right. I tried all day. I thought I had it before lunch, but it kept popping open instead of jamming. So I made it jam again.” The top part of the lockers could only be opened by flipping a lever in the bottom part of the locker, which had a lock. Only mine had a mind of it’s own. It either wouldn’t open, or wouldn’t shut. “So, now my English book is trapped in there, and I need it.”
It was a long, awkward walk. Ricky fell in behind us, observing the unspoken high school pecking order, but I felt better knowing he was there.
There really was a trick to un-jamming that thing, and Ricky really could do it. I let Chris try first, out of politeness. He was, after all, a Senior (and probably the tallest guy in school). It would be insulting to make him defer to a guy like Ricky.
Turns out, it was even more insulting to have Ricky fix it after Chris gave it a shot. Oops.
We all walked back to wait on our rides. Chris had a car and offered me a ride, but I told him my mom was already on her way, and would freak if I wasn’t there when she came for me. Which was true.
Ricky gave us some room when we were outside and within sight of all the other kids. He had band, anyway. It gave us a chance to talk, and we did. The gist of it was that I liked Chris, but as a friend. I told him I thought he was on the rebound, and he and Ronnie were going to be at each other’s throats… I really didn’t want to be around either one of them.
Chris smiled and sighed, looking relieved. He said he thought I was right. I was nice to him everyone seemed to be not so nice, and I was safe. He had really just been waiting around to make sure we were cool. I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth (from the semi-mushy start to the conversation), but I was very happy with what he’d said. I wanted to believe it, so I did.
It was a long talk, and Chris and I were closer after that day. I think that may be why I have hard time thinking of him as ‘Strange Range’. To me he was Chris, and Chris was a good thing to be. Different, yes, but different is sometimes very good. I left the nickname in for context, but I think it said more about everyone else than it did about Chris. Ronnie, for example, was one of his best buddies, and HE used the nickname all the time.
We were friendly after that, hanging out in Art class or lunch or whatever, and he never made cow eyes at me again. The whole thing was sort of embarrassing for both of us, so we just moved on. Years later, I happened to repeatedly use a hairdresser who happened to be his sister-in-law. That is, the younger sister of his wife. She showed me a picture of their baby. I was very happy for him, if somewhat horrified at the idea of people I knew in HS having babies ( I was a Newlywed at the time, 23 or 24).
Meanwhile, I had another offer for the prom. The Amys and Angies were going as group – a big clump of Lit Geek chicks. I loved these girls – they were fun and funny, full of wit and snark and casual geek-chic.
I was sorely tempted, but the prom simply held no appeal in itself. I loved to hang out with those girls, but I would have preferred to do it somewhere fun.
I could have gone if I had wanted, and I considered it right up until the night of the actual dance. They went around asking all the Seniors what they wanted to be in ten years, for the Senior predictions.
I said, “Deliriously happy, for no good reason.” They didn’t use that, natch. I heard second-hand that my peers predicted I would be an artist living in Paris. Heh.
Mine was the one that came true. Well, that may not exactly be true. I was deliriously happy, but I had lots of good reasons. I had met and married a man who loved me and whom I loved more dearly than I had thought possible. We had good jobs and a nice house in the mountains. Robert was born ten years, to the day, after my graduation.
Ronnie had backed off a bit and, silly me, I had thought our relationship was as big a non-issue as my ‘relationship’ with Chris.
Chris tried to tell me otherwise. He brought up the subject as he was giving me a lift home from the Art Class pizza party. There was a plastic skull on his dashboard. “That’s Death,” he said with his characteristic grin/chuckle. “Death is my copilot.”
That didn’t put me at ease. Then, he started talking about Ronnie. “He really likes you, you know.”
“We’ve talked about it,” I said. “I’m not getting serious about anyone. I just want to concentrate on my studies. I’m going away to college and all that.”
He looked at me for a bit longer than I was comfortable with a driver looking away from the road. I was holding Death in my hands, since he’d fallen off the dash when Chris changed gears.
“’Going away to college’? You’re going to Bristol. It’s what? One hour away, tops. I promise you, he’s not thinking what you’re thinking.”
It was true that maybe I hadn’t been clear with Ronnie. He was one of my best friends, and I didn’t want to hurt him. I probably had been leading him on without meaning to, thinking he'd meet someone else. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Bristol would be far enough.
And it was. Almost.
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Yeah, kq, different expectations. You're a great mom.
quote: Great line!
But now I absolutely know you're doing this on purpose.
Of course I am! But that Death is My Copilot thing really weirded me out at the time. Promise. I never rode anywhere with him again. Posts: 9293 | Registered: Aug 2000
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![[Wave]](graemlins/wave.gif)
![[Smile]](smile.gif)
![[Wink]](wink.gif)
I should've been more careful.
![[Razz]](tongue.gif)
![[Evil]](graemlins/evil.gif)
![[Taunt]](graemlins/taunt.gif)
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At least divine revelation has the caveat of being somewhat imaginative. ![[Group Hug]](graemlins/grouphug.gif)
*hugs* for Olivet
![[Big Grin]](biggrin.gif)
Well, that may not exactly be true. I was deliriously happy, but I had lots of good reasons. I had met and married a man who loved me and whom I loved more dearly than I had thought possible. We had good jobs and a nice house in the mountains. Robert was born ten years, to the day, after my graduation. 
