Looking for Eight

Petiet

Prologue

            "You did what?"

            "I broke up with her."   

            "Why?"

            "She's just not what I'm looking for."

            "Not what you're looking for? You just dumped the best girl in the world! What are you looking for? Imperfection? Because she is perfect!"

            "Look, I decide who I date, not you!"

            "Well, if you remember correctly, I was going to ask her out about five minutes after you did! I can't believe you would do this! How can you possibly defend yourself?"

            "Fine! You want to know why I did it? She was fucking everyone but me! She was messing around with tons of people! And what was I getting? Nothing! There. That's the truth."

            "Wh... What?"

            "Yeah."

            "No. She wouldn't do that. Sh... she... NO!"

            "She did. I have stories to prove it. Looks like your perfect girl isn't so angelic after all."

            As my best friend in the whole world listened to my ex-boyfriend tell him why he

had broken up with me, I lay in my bed, crying for hours, wondering whether my entire life was collapsing in on me.

            Everyone thought that we would be the couple to stay together for all four years of high school. We both loved rowing, and they all thought that we could grow to love each other.

            That was before it all came crashing down. I still remember it perfectly. It happened on a Tuesday. April 4, 2005. Two days after the end of spring break.

            The sight of his name coming up on the screen as my phone rang made me smile.

            "Nicole? Are you alone?"

            "I am just getting out of the car."

            "Good. I need to talk you about something."

            I should have let him tell me. He should have had the courage to tell me. Instead: "Are you breaking up with me?"

            "Damn, you're good."

            I didn't understand. I asked why this was happening. All he had the decency to say was, "God! Calm down! You have obviously never been dumped before!"

            No, I had never been dumped before. More importantly, I had never been dumped by him before.

            "Nicole? Can I talk to you?"

            "Sure...?"

            "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I never wanted things to happen like this. I really always wanted to be your friend. You're so nice and cool. I hope that this whole thing won’t get in the way of our being friends."

            I listened to a girl I barely knew tell me how she hoped that the fact that my ex-boyfriend had cheated on me with her, dumped me for her, and then lied about it wouldn't ruin our chances of being best buds.      

            I stood stalk still. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't do anything but stand there and let the horrible truth wash over me.

            "Oh my God! There she is! I heard that she forced some guy into a bathroom and..."

            "That's disgusting! She is such a slut!"

            Conversations such as this have followed me around ever since my ex-boyfriend turned my best friend against me. He believes the stories. He must know deep down that I am not that kind of person. He would not have fallen in love with that kind of person.

Looking for Eight

            I’d been in love before. I think. Well, if I hadn’t, I’d told the person I loved them at any rate. It was all so sudden. One minute we’re watching a movie, and the next he decides he loves me? I wanted to love him. I really did. Saying the words could make me seem closer to actually feeling the emotion, right? Wrong.

            I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t force myself to love him, no matter how much I wanted to. I might have loved him for a moment, but then it was gone.

            What is love anyway? How could I possibly know what the love of a man feels like? From my great relationship with my father? Yeah, right.

            Since I was born it has been just me and my mom, no men. Who was I to judge what a functional relationship was? I’d never even seen one!

            When I was younger, my mom had been a dating machine. She was always trying to find the perfect stepfather for me. All that got her was a couple of broken hearts and many tears.       

            So maybe I had been in love with him. But if that was love, I was in for a disappointing life.

            We broke up.

            I tried again.

            We broke up.

            I stopped trying.

            Trying to love was simply too much work. Pretending was exhausting. Life without love was hard enough. What was I trying to do? Kill myself before I reached my eighteenth birthday? No! I wanted a tattoo and a tongue piercing before I died! I wanted to travel all over the world before I died! I wanted to climb a few mountains, jump off a few cliffs! I wanted to have sex before I died!

            But what was life without love? I’ll tell you what. It’s lonely! I hated it. I hated not loving, and I hated pretending that I actually did love. Why couldn’t I just have the real goddamn thing?

            I was smart. I went to church on major holidays. I loved my mom more than anything else in the world. I was a good kid. I didn’t smoke or drink. I was an athlete. I had nice friends. I respected my teachers. I was doing everything right! Why couldn’t I just get the perfect relationship in return?

            Well, according to my mom, it’s not that simple. Well, why the fuck not? Why can’t we all find the person we are supposed to be with for the rest of our lives before we date every other loser on the planet?

            Unfortunately, I had actually dated just about every other loser. Maybe the word loser is a bit harsh. Then again, maybe it’s not.

            My first boyfriend was the only one who might have actually turned out to be a good guy. But we were fourteen years old. It’s not like we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, get married, and have a few blonde-haired blue-eyed kids. Who were we kidding?

            The second and third were the first one’s good friends. Yeah, that worked well. The fourth one cheated on me and lied about it after he suddenly broke up with me. What a great guy. I broke up with the fifth one in an email. Real classy.

            The sixth was the one I had pretended to love. No dice.

            The seventh rowed on the same crew team as the one who cheated on me. The whole thing lasted way longer than I thought it would. It was three months before the ridiculous rumors Four had spread around about how I was a total slut finally split us up.                       There hasn’t been an eighth per se. More like a seven and a half. He had a girlfriend back home. But this time, I did love him. I really really did.

            He was everything I wanted, and so was I to him. But he had a girlfriend back home, and he was not ready to give up on something that he had already invested six months in.

            It’s been almost two years since I fell in love with him, and he’s still with that girl, complaining about her, fighting with her, complaining about and fighting with her. But he is still not ready to give up on something that he has already invested two and half years in.          

Apparently my love doesn’t amount to much.

My mom is a psychologist. She says that I will probably always want the guys that I can't have, and if I actually get them, I wont want them anymore. She says that I will probably always do this to make up for the father who was never in my life. She says that once the chase is over, I will lose interest. She says that she doesn't want this destiny for me. She says that if she could, she would give me the entire world and more.

But she can't.

And I will probably always want the guys I can't have.

So it seems again, I am in for a disappointing life.

Great. Just what I always wanted.

I'm not a religious person. At all. I mean, I believe that there must be something bigger out there. Somewhere. But I am so not your go-to person to talk with about God. I am definitely at the bottom of your list of those people.

Even so, I somehow found myself at a church youth group. And when I say somehow, it's code for my mom made me.

She wants me to get more in touch with God.

I want to play sports.

If I didn't have her bright blue eyes and brown crazy curly hair, I would wonder every single day if I was adopted.

But I am not.

Maybe if I was adopted every single one of my relationships wouldn't be doomed.

Maybe not.

At any rate, number seven and a half was there, too, for exactly the same reason.          

His mom wanted him to get more in touch with God.

He wanted to play sports.

We both ended up going on a community service trip with this youth group. It was called Work Camp.

About fifteen youth and five adults drove to a church in Oregon. It was in a small native village. Our task for the ten days we were there was to repaint the church and build a play structure for their Save Haven for Children program.

Number seven and a half and I started having fun together as soon as we arrived in Oregon. Someone brought out a football, and in no time we were running around like five-year-olds.

In two hours we were so muddy we looked like we had been in the Brazilian sun for the past few months. Our bodies hurt like crazy from laughing and tackling each other.

We were not able to use the showers at that point, so we simply hosed off behind the church.

            Our second day, four of us spent the night in the kid's area that was right next to the kitchen. Me, my friend, a guy, and Seven and a Half all talked about our previous relationships. My friend was dating some guy. Seven and a Half had a girlfriend named Robin. The other guy and I were single.

            We played cards. Poker. Then Go Fish. Then Ten Fingers. Then Truth or Dare.

            At four in the morning I decided to get out of my sleeping bag and make coffee: a vital substance for survival in my world.

            Seven and a Half followed.

            As we drank our coffee we talked more. About everything. We laughed a lot. About most things.

            Three hours later other people began to groggily emerge and reap the benefits of a Petiet-made cup of coffee, strong enough to get a person going so fast they start moving backwards.

The next day work began. Seven and a Half and I were painting the church. As the sun began to drop, we got into a pretty intense paint fight while using a color called angel white. This time, we were so covered we looked like recently erected snowmen.

That night we set up our sleeping bags. Seven and a Half was on my left. My friend was on my right. Seven and a Half put his fingers through my hair a few times and said he liked it cut short. We looked into each other’s eyes, each pair the same striking blue. He tenderly kissed my cheek and then succumbed to sleep.

A few days later I asked him why he was flirting with me so much when he had a girlfriend back home. He said that he was more attracted to me than any other person he had ever met. He said he didn't know what to do. He'd been with Robin six months. That was a long time, according to him.

Number seven was in Oregon with us, too. What a collection of people. He and Seven and a Half could sometimes be caught talking about me when they thought that no one else was around. Seven understood Seven and a Half's predicament.

            Every day after work we would all walk about two blocks to a bridge, and jump off of it into the river below. We swam until it got dark. My favorite spot was a dock on which I would lie and bathe in the hot mountain sun. Seven and a Half followed. Again. And again. And again.

            We almost kissed. Once. Almost.

            Those ten days were some of the best of my life. We just clicked. It worked.

            Then we left Oregon.

            Then nothing.

            Then more nothing.

            Then more.

            Nothing.

            I was distraught. He had promised we would stay in touch. He had promised we would go surfing together. He had promised he would teach me how to barbeque. He had promised we would go clubbing, and that we would go to Hawaii together, and that he would come to one of my crew races, and that I would go to one of his football games. He had promised so much. And still. Nothing.

            I had fallen in love. I had fallen hard. I decided that love sucked. I wanted nothing more to do with it. So whenever it tried to creep up on me I would push it away. This was perhaps not the smartest of techniques, but it kept me sane. Or as sane as any person in a doomed life could be.

            I went through that life with little thought and not much happiness. It especially did not help that all the guys at my school thought I was some perverse freak because of what Four had said. God, I sure know how to pick them, don't I?

            It was a long time before I got that feeling again. That feeling of giddy deliriousness that only a member of the opposite sex can evoke. He was a year younger than me. Is a year younger than me. He's still around, walking and talking and living, just not in my world.

            We had a few classes together, and really got to know one another on a field trip to San Francisco. He was funny, smart, cute, sarcastic, a must-have quality in my book, and athletic. Is funny, smart, cute, sarcastic, and athletic. He's still around, walking and talking and living, just not in my world.

            He was number seven and three quarters.         

            Two weeks separate our first date from the point of total destruction. Then? Boom!

            I drove to his house to pick him up. He laughed at my car as everyone seeing it for the first time did. He got in. We drove to the center of town. We spent fifteen minutes looking for parking. We parked. We walked up to the movie theater. He bought the tickets. We went into the theater.

            The feature presentation of that night was "The Prestige." It wasn't exactly a scary film, but it had its moments.

            I am just about the spaziest, jumpiest person in the world. He is. As such, we made the whole experience pretty entertaining for those around us.

            We started out sitting on the main floor. That was before he suggested that we move up to the balcony. I was in no mood to refuse.

            At the first rather terrifying scene, I was balled up in my seat. At the next, he was, too. At the next, we were holding hands and smiling. We stayed that way for the rest of the movie. At some point I put my head on his shoulder. He seemed to like that.

            I drove him home to a big empty house, devoid of parents and little brothers. We sat in my car and talked for a while. There was a moment where we could have kissed, but we didn't. I wanted this one to be different from all the rest. I didn't want to just jump right into it. I liked that giddy delirious feeling. I wanted it to stay around for a bit longer.

            I didn't want him to get out of my car, and neither did he, but midnight came and went, and it was time for us to go our separate ways for the night, or morning, as it soon became. We said goodbye. As I started backing out of his driveway, he came running back, stuck his head through the open window, and said that he had had a really good time. I said I had, too. He smiled, and then walked away.

            The next two weeks were filled with the same giddy deliriousness. We were both so busy that we hadn't managed to get together outside of classes again. However, we both had agreed that the next movie was definitely going to be a comedy. We were just a bit too spaztic for our own good.

            It was after spirit week that things started going downhill, and they went fast. Seven and Three Quarters started talking to me less and less. He became distant and cold. I tried to talk to him, and he wouldn't go for it. I bought him copy of "Anchorman," one of my favorite movies, which he had never seen before. It was a sort of peace offering.

            Nothing.

            I wrote him a letter, thinking that he might respond better to that.

            Nothing.

            I stopped trying.

            Trying to love was simply too much work. Trying to make someone love you in return? That was simply impossible.

            It seemed as though I really was destined to always choose the guys who would not have me. Every single time I was naïve enough to think that it would be different. Every single time it was the same.

            Even though my mom didn't want that destiny for me, it seemed that neither of us had any say in the matter. It was what it was. I was a wreck. I failed at relationships.

            A year has passed since my last encounter, for want of a better word, with Seven and Three Quarters, and I have still not discovered the secret to getting away from my biggest fear: loneliness.

One and I are still friends. Sort of. It will never be the same as it once was.

Two and Three don't like me. At all. Go figure.

I don't even know what the hell happened to Four, but I am happy to report that I really could not care less.

I haven't spoken to Five since that email. Real classy.

Six is still in love with me. I don't want him anymore.

Seven has been in a relationship with some cow for about a year and a half.

Seven and a Half has a girlfriend back home. He really cares about me, and we will always be more than friends. But he is still not ready to give up on something that he has already invested two and a half years in.

Seven and Three Quarters has some girlfriend his own age. She has bright blue eyes and brown crazy curly hair. We don't talk. At all.

And me? Even considering everything that has happened and all the tears I have shed, I wouldn’t take anything back if I had the option to. Although it might have been nice to get a few words of advice about high school from someone who was older than me as I entered into freshman year, I have learned from my mistakes.

Now I know better. I know that a good relationship has to start with a great friendship. A good relationship has to rely on unconditional trust. A good relationship is one where nothing else can possibly get in the way of how much two people care about each other. And, if you’re lucky, a good relationship has love.

I still haven’t given up hope. Although I have yet to discover the secret to getting away from my biggest fear, I am certain that some day I will find that one person who is my best friend, who I can trust no matter what happens, and who I can truly love.