Sensing my tension, one of the people next to me asked if I was a student at the school or just an observer. I nervously replied that while I was both a student and an instructor, my reason for being there on that particular evening was to meet with another student to exchange Christmas presents, meet with Her mother and hopefully get to spend some time together. I continued to describe Her as only a 13 year-old boy can do, nervously stammering on about how beautiful and kindhearted she was. (SD - For the record, this girl was so far out of my league it's not even funny.)
I didn't stand a chance.
I knew before my eyes confirmed it.
She was pointing at the woman I had been talking with.
Now dear readers, if you've ever been skydiving you likely know the exact inner monologue I went through as her mom approached us smiling like the Cheshire fucking Cat:
"FUUUUUUUUCK.....okay..okay...don't panic, we trained for this. Check altimit..err...I mean boots tied, fly up, nothing in my teeth? Pull the main. STOP. BREATHE. We got this. Good. Breathe. Scan left-right. Shit, is this Her lip gloss? It tastes like it. I probably smell like Her too, but there's no way to jump back into the damn plane, so hold on and prepare for the PLF!"*
She owned me from that point on.
This wasn't so much a turning point in my life as it was the beginning of something extraordinary. She came from a Catholic family with strictly enforced rules. (Notice that I didn't say: "strict rules") Interestingly enough, she was more protective of her heart and honor than her parents were. Though it may sound self-serving; she knew what she was worth and wouldn't settle for anything less.
(SD - Women please take note, this kind of behavior will drive a man 100% chewing-on-the-furniture-fucking-bonkers. There exists no quality in a woman more attractive than self-esteem.)
**Pretty Fucked-up Landing : Adj. - A basic technique of hitting the ground in a ram-air canopy with a full combat load that maximizes the amount money your orthopedic surgeon has available to spend on weed and hookers. See also; "Marine Mike's Motorcycle Incident" - One man's passionate attempt to achieve flight from level terrain in a 1/2 ton wing suit.
In the fall of 1991 I moved into a large studio office behind our house and began living my life as an adult at 13. I went to two schools during the day, taught Karate a few nights a week and spent most weekends with my paramour and her family. When we turned 15 we both got jobs waiting tables together at Denny's. This was both as tragic and hilarious as it sounds.
So many memories from those years: The first I Love You - events at her school - church every Sunday with her family - That. Little. Black. Dress. - the lesson at the play - the shirt thing was cool - the Detroit River fireworks from the Canadian side - her writing - Jack and Devon - her piano recitals - making mix tapes - indoor soccer - Chocolate Chip Cookies - the dance floor to ourselves at senior prom while the DJ played "No One Like You" by Scorpions. All eyes were on us. (To this day, I have no fucking idea how she pulled that off)
"That would be impossible." I stated matter-of-factly. "She's never had sex."