Josh and Georgia
Ever heard the saying, and I'm paraphrasing here, "If you love
something, let it go. If it comes back, it was meant to be. If it
doesn't, hunt it down and kill it." That is the story of Georgia and
Josh.
I was 13 1/2 years old, I had just had my first period, had mosquito-bite boobs,
and the nicest little hippy ass. I was a very mature 13 year old in many
ways, except in the ways of love. I had just shed my pre-teen awkwardness.
I met Josh at my friend's birthday party. He was 18. He had a car.
He had a pager. He had a cell-phone (virtually unheard of in 1991). He had
to shave. He was a man. He was cute, funny, flirty, and horny.
We partied a lot. We drank. He and my other friends did some drugs
(I wasn't into that). Fun was had by all, except Josh. I wasn't
gonna give it up. I wasn't ready to have sex, and I told him that, and
stuck to my guns.
Twenty-two days passed, and he was off to Seattle, WA, for whatever reason. I
didn't love him until he pulled out of the drive way. He had even told me
that he loved me. We were standing alone outside, hugging. He said,
"I love you." I didn't say anything, didn't think much of it.
My friends said it to all their boyfriends. He then said, "I can't
believe I just said that. Did that scare you?" I didn't
understand why. He had this deer in the head-lights look in his eyes.
I realized later that he meant it, and that is what scared him.
Seattle is about 800 miles from Sacramento, CA where I was living. I wrote
him almost everyday. He wrote maybe 3-4 times. We called each other
at least once a week, for a whole year. I got to see him for one day
during that entire year. I was visiting relatives in Portland, OR and he
drove down to meet me. I fully intended to have sex with him, but the
opportunity didn't present itself. I was devastated when we had to part
again. Six months later he moved back down to Sacramento. I was 14
by then. We had sex 3 times in about a 2 month time span. He was
living with his parents, who were very controlling of him. He could barely
leave the house, or use the phone. It was like he had never come home.
He was 2 miles away, but just as untouchable as when he was 800 miles away.
My gut just rolled. All the time. I missed him so much. I
finally was fed up. I hadn't heard a word from him in a month. I
couldn't stand the pain any more, and couldn't understand why he didn't make
more of an effort to see me.
I started seeing some other loser immediately (we will call him the Tweeker),
and ended up in that relationship for 3 1/2 years. I did try Josh again,
while the Tweeker had abandoned me for a couple weeks. I wrote him a
letter, and he came right over, f*cked me (sorry there is no other word for it)
and left. I walked over to his house a few days later, and his mom told me
he had left the day before for boot camp. Ouch. He even called me
about a year later. He got to "Hi, it's Josh!" before he heard
"click". So I was back with the Tweeker. It was mentally
abusive, and controlling. That is an entire other story, that I prefer to
forget rather than retell. Once night the Tweeker didn't want me to go see
my girl friend who was in town from North Carolina. I went anyway.
He chased me around on his motorcycle, and ended up in a high speed chase with
the cops. He crashed, was arrested and put in jail. I went to visit
him in jail, and broke it off. I drove home, feeling like a caged
animal that had just broken free. I was scared, excited, and exhilarated.
I immediately paged Josh. I knew that he was back in town, and my friend
had been talking to him. I found his pager number in her purse one day and
memorized it instantly. I would need it later, I knew that.
I had laryngitis. My voice was not my own. I had not spoken to him
in over 3 years. It took him a minute to process who he was talking to,
and for me to convince him it was really me. I TOLD him to meet me at
Denny's. He did. I was feeling outrageously powerful and assertive.
My stomach rolled. I had still loved him all this time. I masked it with
hatred all this time. I hated him for stealing my innocence. I hated him
for ignoring me. I hated him for stringing me along. I hated him for
not calling when I wanted him to. I hate him for calling me when I didn't.
I hated his dark smoldering eyes. I hated his soft supple lips. I
hated that he was such a better kisser than the Tweeker. I hated that he
could always make me laugh. God, did I still love that man.
I remember seeing him pull up at the Denny's parking lot. We said not a
word at first. We just ran to each other. He held me and just
repeated, "I'm so sorry Georgia." I would not reply. I was
not going to forgive him so quickly. I was still feeling very in-charge.
We went in and ordered coffee that we could not drink because both of our
stomachs were rolling.
We talked, caught up. We went outside and talked. We were supposed
to be leaving, but we couldn't leave each other. We just couldn't.
So, after much encouragement on my part we went for a little drive. He was
really trying to be the gentle-man. I was really trying to be the
dominatrix. We were going to have sex, because I wanted to, damn it.
I nearly had to rape the man. It was cheap, and tacky, but I was
in-charge. He moved in a week later. That was in 1996 and we are
married now and more in love than ever.
I loved someone, and I let him go. He's damn lucky he came back, or I
would have hunted him down and killed him. ;)