The First Love, The Hometown, The Dream

Cedric was my first love.

We all have them.  It’s a whirlwind of feelings you don’t understand, stars in the sky, flourishes of flutes, kisses, fights, tears.

And when it’s all over, maybe you never really fall out of love.

I don’t think about him often.  We’re facebook buddies, and when I’m back in the hometown, I’ll do my best to hang around wherever I think I might run into him.  I’ll let him tease me and I’ll tease him back and we’ll catch up on life and love and music and give each other a hug and be on our own ways.  It’s been longer than I’d care to remember since I fell in love with him, and I don’t really know that I could tell you when I was finally, truly okay after he’d gone.  I am now. That’s what matters.

But he’s still Cedric.  He’s still the one who took me to my junior prom, who curled up with me on his best friend’s couch, watching movies.  He’s the one who built me a fire in my grandma’s fireplace on my 16th birthday, who drove hours and hours just to hold my hand, who let me tell him when he wasn’t done kissing me yet, thank you.  He let me call from college, crying over the boys who didn’t love me, who never would.  He was an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, the Montana Speech and Drama State Champion, my favorite red headed Eagle Scout, and somebody anybody could always count on for a laugh.

He was the Big Dog, the big brother, the best friend.

And for a short time, he was living his own little dream.
I guess he still is.

But somebody’s trying to take it away from him, and even though maybe it shouldn’t be, to me, it’s personal.

He and I lived through so many of the same things, and what we lived through was wonderful.  It was wonderful in large part because of the teachers we had– how much they knew, how hard the pushed us, how much they cared.  And I knew, I always knew and still know, that that was what Cedric wanted.  Not only did he want that, but he wanted it in that town, that building, that room.  The kids would be different but the potential and energy and talent would be the same.

It’s not that I’ve ever seen him teach, but I’ve seen him lord over many a marching band, and I have to believe he has what it takes.

And they’re trying to take it away from him.

That program made me who I am.

That was important, so let me say it again.

The Sidney Middle and High School Music Department made me who I am.

I think it’s pretty obvious that Cedric could probably say the same thing.

My heart has been broken time and time again, hearing about who isn’t teaching anymore, and even more, who is.  Is the administration not trying hard enough?  Are they being selfish?  How much do they expect from a first year teacher?  Too much or not enough?

Or both?

I don’t know, but that department made me who I am (its always worth saying one more time) and even the slightest inkling I may have that any kid in that beautiful little town I grew up in might not have the opportunities I had shatters my heart into tiny, irreparable pieces.

I never expected my teachers to stick around forever.  That would have been crazy and unrealistic… but I was there when one of my favorites retired.  They replaced him with a woman just as strong willed and passionate, knowledgeable and talented as he was.  I saw that happen right before my eyes, so it never occurred to me that one day, wrong decision after wrong decision could be made.  I never dreamed  it could all fall apart.

But Cedric.  Cedric swooped in and started putting the little eaglets in little rows.  From what I understand, he really made those kids love music again, really made them work for it, really put everything he had into that program.  And why shouldn’t he?  He knows what potential is there.   When you know how great something can be, don’t you want it to be GREAT?

Cedric did.

90 people showed up to a school board meeting last night to show their support for somebody I couldn’t care more about right now.  My thoughts are on him, on those kids, on that school.  I have never believed anything quite as much as I believe that he is in the right place, doing what he’s meant to do.  He’s got something amazing in his hands, and after the things that department has been through over the past few years, he’s one of the only people I’d trust with it. I just have to hope those 90 people  were enough to make those crazy few on that administrative board see that he is worth trusting.

He’s worth so much more than they’re giving him.

The Boy, Revisited

“I have something fun to tell you,” I smiled, working hard to control my giddy excitement.

“YOU’RE PREGNANT!” he exclaimed.

I laughed.  “Funny, my mom made that same joke when I called to tell her I had something I’d better tell her before it went up on the blog.”

He thought that was great.  “But what’s your real news?”

So I told him, and his enthusiasm shone through strong and true for me.  He was excited for me.  And proud.

“But wait.  I need to backtrack here a bit.  … Did you say you blogged about this?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Oh.  Honey.  Have I been blogging about you!“

It wasn’t my intention to spill myself all over my blog this time around.  It’s something I’ve done so much of in the past, and while some very artful posts have come from those experiences, some pathetic, whiny pieces of writing I wish I could make disappear have also resulted from those situations.  I didn’t want to look back at any of that and remember how I felt or have to berate myself for behaving the way I may have been behaving.

But I couldn’t help it.  Some days, it was all that was on my mind, all I could possibly write about… and I couldn’t abandon this place.
I did what I could to ensure I wouldn’t be embarrassed by myself later.

At one point, we had been talking on the phone when my blog came up, and he asked two things of me, should I decide to blog about him.  One, not to use any identifying information, and two, to be completely honest, no matter what.  He’s not a fan of having his life publicized or published in any way.  He’s very private.  You may never see a photo of him, even on my facebook profile.  We’re opposites like that.  But, he thought it may be enlightening, may offer insight, were he to ever read it… so he said to go for it.

I’ve honored both requests, and I’ve always written as though he may come in and read what I’ve written tomorrow or twenty years from now.  Not that I’ve ever had to hold back.

But it makes me wonder, after weeks apart, what he might think if he were to log on to CourtneyOlson.com and read what was going on during that time.  I believe we spent our time very differently.

But so much changed during that time.  So much changed on February 14th.  So much changed on Saturday, when after a simple question, he had me heading down winding country roads to meet him, to ride in that crazy old car of his, to admire the bright colors he painted the walls in that tiny, adorable house of his.  So much changed, all for the better, and when I finally left that night after discovering the surprisingly late hour, I realized that I may have never been as happy as I was that night, in so many of those moments.  I couldn’t choose one.

So many little things, little words, glances, actions.
So much is telling me to hope.
To believe.

The Boy

I didn’t think I would write this post until at least Monday.  Probably Tuesday.  Something in me thinks he’ll be much less likely to read it once the weekend has passed.

But I’m writing it now.  Read into that what you will.

Chris and Jim – an “ex” and an old friend from college – came to the house for dinner last night.  Jim I see often enough, but Chris just moved to the South and I hadn’t seen him since…

I don’t know.

And I don’t know because I don’t care to remember because every time we see each other its as if no time has passed.   We have a natural, easy friendship.  He brings a part of my life with him that was happy and easy and full of any possibility I could imagine.

The three of us ate and talked and played Nintendo and watched Follow That Bird.

(Yes.  Three grown adults voluntarily watched a Sesame Street movie.  We were thoroughly entertained.)

And I was happy.  Thrilled, actually, to have these lovely, wonderful people in my home, complimenting the house, the cooking, the fact that I still have a working Nintendo.

But the last person I cooked dinner for was him.
And the last person I played Nintendo with was him.
And the last person I pulled up my website for was him.

I missed him.
I miss him.

ALREADY.

But I’ve been missing him.  I’ve been missing him for weeks, and not only that, I had to miss him without knowing what was going to happen next.  I had to miss him not knowing when I’d next find an inside joke text message waiting on my phone for me, when I’d next hear his voice, when I’d next lay eyes on him.  I never asked for very much, and maybe I should have, but I didn’t even get what little I asked for.

He didn’t think he could give it to me.

So now, I miss him, and I know.  I know I won’t be hearing from him, or seeing him, or fighting to keep my balance as he dives in and plants his lips on my cheek.  I know this, and it’s my doing.  I called it off.  I couldn’t handle not knowing anymore.

We were laying on my floor one night, just talking.  I had been having an atrocious day, and when he came over that night, I was sitting on the floor half-heartedly plunking away on my piano.  He let himself in, and just sat next to me.  Just sat.  I nearly cried, telling him how frustrated I was with all that had been happening, and he didn’t try to fix anything or get overly logical, which I know is in his nature to do.  He just listened and did his best to make me smile.

We talked that night about some of our past dating situations.  I don’t remember how they came up, but this subject often came up in one way or another.  He told me he wasn’t one to try to convince somebody she shouldn’t break up with him.  I said, “Me either.  I’ve done it; it never works.  I’ve given up on that tactic, mostly.”  He agreed, and we continued on for another short while.

After a few hours, we finally migrated to the couch for a little while before he had to go.  And when he left, I felt as if the whole world had just gone away.  I had no more worries, no more fears, no more frustrations.

Now I think back to that night as one of the last we really spent together, lovely and simple.  The way he said, “I hate the idea of you having a bad day.”  The way he said, “If a girl breaks up with me, even if I really like her, I’m going to let her go.”

I was having a really bad day.
And he let me go.

I knew that I could ask for what I thought I needed and he’d probably say no.
And I knew that if I broke up with him, there was very little chance he’d fight.

But a big, big part of me is hoping he will.
There’s still a chance.
I really do like him, and I know he really likes me.
What I don’t know is if he’ll miss me enough to think even a small change in his actions might be worth seeing me again.
What I don’t know is if he’ll believe that a simple, meaningful apology will allow him to slip his foot back in the door.

I don’t need him in my life.  I have friends who make me laugh, who play Nintendo with me, who sing and dance and bounce around.  And let me tell you, he never would have watched a Sesame Street movie with me.  I don’t need him.  I am fine.

But I want to be more than fine.
And there’s one big ball of forgiveness ready to drop, if he’s ready to stand there and catch it.
One.

But I can’t go back.
He has to come to me.

The Boy

Note: With the new blog comes the new Characters series.  These profiles are not meant to define the people in my life in any kind of static way.  It’s a look at them, at us, now.  Multiple character profiles may be written about one person, should the relationship or my perception of said person change.  This is the first look at one of my current favorite characters, and I hope I keep finding reasons to write about him.

Sometimes I inadvertently call him my boyfriend.

When you can measure the time you’ve been dating somebody in months, continuing to say “this guy I’m dating” becomes cumbersome and confusing.  It sounds like a new guy, like that last guy you were dating probably didn’t last.  But what about that guy from the coffee shop, Courtney?  What happened to him?

That’s who I’m talking about.

But I thought you said…

So I take the easy route.  The people who don’t know all the crazy details or any of the inner workings of my life get to hear the word “boyfriend.”  Everybody else who knows the story just hears his name.

The reasons we don’t use the words “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” are terribly clear, yet completely foreign to so many people, myself included.  Still, I’m so far beyond the point of needing social definitions that it doesn’t bother me one way or another.  We haven’t been out together in probably a month.  Would some of my friends be bewildered at this revelation?  Believe it.  When you’re dating, you’re supposed to, well, go on dates.  But there’s no need to go sit at a noisy restaurant and order greasy food to talk to each other when you can sprawl out on a couch or a floor where it’s quiet and there’s the option of busting out the Nintendo if the conversation lags.

The conversation never lags.

When we really start talking, really, he makes reference to things that he’s “sure we’ll get into someday.”  He’ll think twice about telling me a story he’s already started, and by the end will have mustered the moxie to tell me anyway.  We’ll pepper the serious moments with laughter.  I can tell him when I’m having a terrible day and he won’t see it as me seeking attention, he won’t blow it off as something I can get over on my own, though I probably can. He’ll come and he’ll talk with me and we’ll laugh.   He’ll tell me he hates the idea of me having a terrible day.

My heart will melt a little.

I feel as though he probably has more baggage than me, but then I think perhaps my baggage just can’t be verbalized quite as easily as his can.  Either way, we seem to have eased into things, and we’ll keep easing.  I see no signs that say otherwise.

I’m not in love with him.  I’m a little scared to be.  I trust him.  The situation is scary.  My past whispers in my ear.  I don’t remember the last time I dated one guy for this long, and it hasn’t been a long time.  Part of me thinks I should be home free.  This is a good sign.  Things he says.  Things he does.  Good signs.

But there are no guarantees and I’m scared.

So we see each other roughly once a week.  And he’s not my boyfriend.  And maybe someday he will be and maybe someday I’ll love him.
I know I could if I’d just let myself, but I’ve got to wait and see.

For now, he’s a shining light.  He’s hope.  I don’t want to know how this one ends, because I want to enjoy the journey.

It’s been a lovely journey so far.