Prologue
“I’m not good enough to be someone’s boyfriend,” I thought. The brunette was my friend, and then she wasn’t. I asked her out on a whim. Then she said yes and I took a step back from my situation. “Why?” I asked myself. I’d finally got what I wanted, an actual living – breathing person that wanted to commit to me. But there was something that I couldn’t understand about myself. Maybe it was inexperience or even the fact that we lived so far away from each other. Maybe I selfishly just wanted to feel what it was like to have someone accept me, but I internally knew that this “relationship” that I created wasn’t going to work. To her, I’ve become this immature person – this Indian-giver of sorts that was never ready to commit to anybody in the first place. I didn’t want to be this guy.
Now, I’m stranded in this idea, the idea of another person perhaps. With the way I am now, I’m sure that she wouldn’t take notice of me in the least. Blondie never did – she never thought I was interesting.

Start of Something Good, Start of Something Bad
I sat there on my couch, only consciously present. In my mind, I felt drained and in a fog-like depression after what seemed to be an actual break-up with the brunette.
“It’s funny,” I thought; I’d only experienced a kind of intimacy for what seemed like a short twenty-four hours. I missed it already. We never talked to each other face-to-face about us.
The whole idea of a relationship was only discussed in an online chat room which, I guess, kind of exposed the irony behind the whole situation. Maybe if I was more open to the fact that there is a possibility of happiness with another human being, I might have a tiny morsel of closure. But now, when I think about closure, I realize the problem was just that I couldn’t handle thinking about a future with her. I was only happy with “the idea of us.”
And so, in efforts to calm these thoughts, I would listen to music. I would follow and listen to the bass that came out of my ear-buds in delight, as if hearing their pulsating frequencies were therapeutic.
I woke up later that day on my bed with a tissue box next to me and a nearly half-way filled waste basket. I looked to my right and saw my phone lying idly on my end table.
I felt unusually confident, as if all of my problems were erased by a stiff eraser, one that left its pink marks all over my psyche. Finally, I could see my objectives without being devoured by my own hatred towards myself. I don’t want to think about it.
Attraction: I’m not talking about protons and electrons
Out of the corner of my eye, Blondie appears. The locks of her golden hair sway only slightly as her strong feminine frame holds it in place. Her expressive eyelashes are refreshing and her plump-red dimples remind people of her prudence. As she comes into the room, I begin to remember why I first became attracted to her back in middle school. That was an era in my life that I’d love to forget, for so many reasons.
In my opinion, we were all confused during those middle school years. We would all collectively go out of our comfort zones and ask out petite girls to dances. I mean, what’s the point? I bet a majority of the guys that did this didn’t understand why they were doing it because a majority of the things that happened were caused by peer pressure. In fact, I know that we didn’t understand our own emotional feelings at that age. We would all try to fit in an ideal clique or group that really didn’t exist. If you must know, I was one of the unpopular kids. I mean, I didn’t choose where I wanted to be, but it chose me.
Blondie, on the other hand, wasn’t confused like the rest of us; she wasn’t trying to find some place to fit in. She had a vision. I mean, we all thought we were talentless, worthless human beings. But Blondie had talent and, comparatively speaking, a drive that most adults I knew lacked. I admired her for that and I still do now. And so, like the sincere person I was, I had the courage to have someone else ask her to a dance for me. At the end of it, my subconscious would tell me, “You got a lotta’ guts, kid - thanks, I know - I’m a true romantic. She didn’t say yes, but seriously though, who would’ve said yes to a proposal like that?” I mean, sometimes I just wish that I had someone like her in my life.
Blondie scans the room as she looks for an empty seat. She finds the empty space next to me; she paces over and puts her things next to mine as she pulls her chair back to sit. “Oh hey, how’s it going?” she asks.
I found it hard to come up with a response as my admiration for her outweighed any wit that I may have had. In a stuttered thought, I coughed in efforts to clear my voice. “Not much, just listening to music and finishing homework. So what do you think of symphonic choir so far? Do you like it as much as last year?”
She settled into her seat and gets situated with her homework, “Oh yeah definitely, but choir is always so different, year after year, you know? But Blondie quickly changes the subject, “So what are you listening to?”
I took out my ear-buds in efforts to hear her better “Coldplay,” I reply, “You know ‘em?”
She took the iPod from my hand, and excitedly scanned through my selection of music. “Oh my gosh, seriously? They’re my favorite band” she says enthusiastically. “My favorite song is Sparks. Oh awesome! You have it on here.”
As Blondie places my ear-buds in her ears, I debate whether or not my thought would be appropriate. So I asked curiously, “Hey, so um…”
Blondie quickly took the ear-buds out. “I’ve been working on my own rendition of Sparks, I was thinking that, you know… with your singing talents that you could – if you wanted… we could do a duet for the talent show.”
Blondie put the iPod down on my side of the table. She got a few papers out of her backpack and said, “I mean maybe, we’ll definitely talk about it though! I’ve got some homework that I’ve got to finish. I have a biology test coming up next period and it’s over prokaryotes and microorganisms. ” She unzips a compartment in her backpack and takes out her own iPod and headphones, a pack of colored ink pens, her science folder and places them all on the table.
I put my ear-buds back in. That was a nice chat – It was fine, I guess - An abrupt end though. A friend of mine, George Carlin, would describe that conversation to be just “dandy.”
I awoke that evening at about midnight with the remembrance of the same eraser-like marks on my psyche, but this time the waste basket nearly full. On my end table, my phone was left idle again. However, this time there was a peculiar picture left on its screen. It was a picture of Blondie at her parent’s vacation house in New Hampshire. I couldn’t stop looking at her smile – she looked so happy.

Carpe Diem
Nowadays, there aren’t really many people who I can talk to – I mean, I know there are psychologists and professionals available for these reasons, but really what’s the fun in doing that? I mean, I could understand if the treatment was free, but I can’t pay money for that kind of stuff out of my own pocket.

Ever since I took up choir as one of my new electives, I was surprised by the element of camaraderie within the group. Out of the numerous sections in the choir, I was one of three first tenors. Sage, who was also a first tenor, seemed to be sort of a sagacious advisor to me and my problems. Oftentimes, he would give me simplistic answers to complex problems, saying that “A majority of my problems were superficial, that I was only focusing on the external qualities of people.” In addition to the serious conversations that we’d have, we’d also casually talk on our phones for hours on end, joking about random things like coarse imitations of Bill Cosby and what he does with his Jell-O pudding – and well, the inappropriate jargon. Apart from all of the casual nonsense, the guy’s practically my support system.

I called Sage the other day, after my last incident occurred. I knew I had to tell someone about the incident. I couldn’t just let it reside in my brain, like the resisting feeling in your throat before you get a cold. “Hey Sage,” as soon as I got through to him, I could hear him jamming on his guitar. He was probably practicing for his lessons.
“Hey, not much man,” he said as he plucked the strings.
“Hey man, do you mind taking a break guitar really quick? I kinda need to talk to you.” I wanted to see if he could possibly know what I’m going through. Sage puts the guitar back in its case.
“What’s up?” Sage said sincerely.
So, I told him about the happenings. I told him how, during the second incident, my phone was left idle with a jubilant picture of Blondie at her parent’s vacation house in New Hampshire. “I’ve known her since middle school, but there was never any history between us.” Sage could tell I was lying.
“I actually believe it is – because I actually went through that same thing a couple years ago.” I was blindsided by his response, I had no idea that that was normal. “So hold on – were you lying when you said you had no history with her?”
“Yeah, it’s nobody,” I lied again. There was a second of quiet –
“Well she must be pretty important if you that picture of her is really on your phone. Are you thinking about going to the junior prom with her?” I’d never thought of that before. If I were to go to the junior prom with Blondie, then there might be a chance that I could get a little bit closer to her. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? Maybe it was the fact that we only have one class together now, that being choir, and there would be very little time to confront her – if I did.
“Well maybe, but I don’t think it would be even possible Sage! I mean, she doesn’t even know me that well.” Just then, Sage discussed with me about the idea of “carpe diem” and why no idea or person is worth obsessing or fretting over.
I mean, even if you do ask her out, it’s not going to be the end of the world.
From then on, the idea lingered on in my head until the idea was clear and the motive finally made sense. Maybe it was a sign, but taking Blondie to the Junior Prom wouldn’t be the end of the world, now I knew that.
Prom
It wasn’t long before I became anxious again after Sage’s encouragement. When are you going ask her to Prom? She’s not that great – there’s no need for you to put her on that pedestal. We were in the middle of choir rehearsal, fixing the last remaining kinks in the songs that we needed to prepare. You need to do it now! What are you waiting for - for someone to trip Blondie, so that you can be her hero, would that make it easier on you? Yeah it actually would.
Then, the moment of truth arrived. As I walked over to her, I began to tremble – but again I reemerged with confidence. “Hey Blondie, do you have a moment?” I said.
Blondie, who was nervous about what I was going to ask her, said, “Yeah sure, hold on, let me put my folder away.” I could barely handle the situation but then she came back to me with that same anxiousness. “Did you want to ask me something?”

“Yeah, I was thinking that – maybe if you were interested… in going to the Junior Prom with me? I mean, it’s no big deal if you had previous plans with people already. I was just curious to see if you were interested.” She stood there a moment stunned, but she was able to regain her composure.

“Sure, just let me check with my friend first. He already asked me, but he was telling me that he had a family emergency, so he might not be able to make it. But yeah, I’ll let you know soon alright?” The dismissal bell rang. As she talked, I felt like my ears were covered with something, something like earmuffs. But ultimately, I felt good about what just happened. You should! You faced your fear, and now you’re going to the Prom with your middle school crush! Although, I realized then, that there was still that chance of her going with the other guy. When would she let me know? When would she let me off the leash that constantly pulled on my brain? It would be her decision and hers only. I was proud of myself.

I didn’t hear back from her for at least 30 hours before she sent me this long rejection text and it said, “Listen, I really admire the fact that you had enough courage to ask, but I just really don’t feel any connection with you, and the connection that you think we now have, it hasn’t changed. And even during middle school, we still didn’t have a connection. Why do you force these feelings on me when you know that I can’t put myself through something like this? I’m not going to give someone hope for something that will never exist. Why are you putting me through this again?”
I didn’t respond.
I saw Blondie walk into school the following morning crying. It was one of the most grimacing that I could ever experience, knowing that I was the one who caused that pain. Look at yourself? Who are you?

Unintended Consequences
Today, during choir, I couldn’t help but think about what she must be thinking of me. Forget choir, how about the entire populace of gossip girls in the theater program? There shouldn’t be a doubt that they’re talking about you, and how you can magically think people can change their personal opinion of you in three years, without even talking to them face-to-face.
Without being too dramatic, I quickly glanced to my right to see her, sternly staring at the other side of the risers. I imagined her thinking things like, “Why is he putting me into this situation? Why won’t this guy just take a hint and think about someone else for a change?” I mean, she would look down of course, but only to take a quick sip of water or check her phone. I could definitely tell that she wasn’t happy, and I could tell that she didn’t want to be there standing right next to me. For me, I’m sure that was the closest that I would ever physically be to her without completely forcing myself upon her in desperation.
That night, in efforts to aid the quickly deteriorating situation, I sent her another text apologizing to her but again, she didn’t respond.
The next day, I started to give up hope on communication between us. It was the same old song and dance during choir, as I stood there like a trophy for my own self-hate to claim.
Usually on a normal day after school, I would get up onto the school bus, sit in my normal spot. But the day after, I began approaching my normal seat and Sage was sitting in the seat across from me.
“Hey man, did you ask Blondie out to the prom yet? I heard in theater that one guy is thinking about asking her,” he said with remorse, as if he knew what it felt like to be in my situation. I began updating him on every little detail of what’d happened since the last time him and I talked. But internally, as I retold the story, I felt as if I was being drained: from myself, from my own thoughts, and from my own actions. Afterwards, I took a moment to recuperate, not because I wanted one but because I needed one. I took my water bottle from the side of my backpack and drank the remains of what was left from choir that day. “You feelin’ alright? You look a little pale?” he said.

Just then, Blondie appeared on the bus.

Sage quickly saw the crisis at hand; he knew this was a good opportunity for me to resolve things. With sleight of hand, he proclaimed, “Hey, Blondie, so I hear from my friend here that you and him aren’t really communicating very well, what’s that about?” Blondie, at first, was caught off guard by Sage’s insinuating tone, but also the fact that I implied that we weren’t communicating.

“Why would you think that?” she said calmly.
“I was just concerned – we haven’t communicated since that night,” I said, as I began to feel the perspiration on my palms. She’s not that great. “You know, that night where you waited almost thirty-two hours to respond! I mean, your rejection text was thoughtful Blondie, I’ll give you that!” I knew that sarcasm was imminent, and it had to be said. “But now that I’ve made this happen, are we going to act like it never occurred?” She looked down, and returned to me with blank expression. “Listen I’m sorry about all the pressure that I put on you the other night, but truly, are you going to stand there right next to me, during choir, and not talk to me about how you feel that we should resolve this?”
She looked away for a moment, and blinked coldly. Through all of the stress that I’d put her through, she looked back at me with a grimacing appearance that I hadn’t seen before; tears started to come out of her eyes. Just then, she confirmed my initial assumption; the fact that maybe I was instinctively setting myself up for failure. With a whimper, she said, “What do you want me to say?” Suddenly, struggling to maintain her composure, she gathered all of her belongings and scurried off the bus.
As I approached my bus stop, I scurried off of the bus myself, shocked by how much hostility I had shown her. I mean, surely this situation wasn’t going to end well after what I just did. I stormed into my house, drenched with guilt and grief. Just then, I did the movements consciously instead of subconsciously. I used each one of those tissues with purpose – one that I could visibly recognize but never fully understand. Gradually, as the waste basket became more filled and fueled with hatred, sorrow, and misunderstanding, my psyche seemed to follow someone else’s rules and it began to mutate.
I saw myself for who I really was then; a bad guy giving the innocent girl a reason to lose faith in humanity – a single humanity that seldom cared about the cause, and only for the purpose.
I saw my own psyche rip apart – shining an opaque light into my thoughts. Gradually, I was drawn towards the light. Then, I began to see the same picture of Blondie, a picture of the brunette before the breakup, and all of the crushes that I’d had before. Suddenly, I knew that all control that I had left was lost, and all of the control that I thought I had was drained by the parasite of human nature.

Epilogue: Misery Loves Company
Insanity: the conscious repetition of actions that may or may not be beneficial. It’s the mental cycles, the returning back to single thought and then, out of habit, making the same bad decision again. I mean, I feel like it’s possible that we’re all a little bit insane in our own way. I mean this is why addicts are the way they are. They smoke that first cigarette, the guilt resurges along with the denial, the “I have control over myself.” Then comes the questioning of self, “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to do this, why are you doing this again?” You give begin to rationalize with yourself by thinking that “I never felt anything with the brunette because I knew the Blondie was the one for me all along.” Finally, you realize the things that were keeping you sane – were all along secretly causing your downfall. “I had feelings for Blondie before, but now I like her again. Each one of these cycle repeats and every time it slowly leeches your self-esteem, building up an unreasonable amount of self-hate. In the end, things can go from bad to worse. Misery loves company I’ve heard.