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The Heart is a Fucking Liar

Profanity Alert!! Profanity Alert!!! HA!!!!

Well, I've been putting it off for too long now. I can't have it banging around in my skull, so it's time to jettison it. It's been "niggling" in my brain for too long. Niggling. I love that word. It's a grand word, isn't it? Kind of reminds me of wriggling and...I don't know what. Anyway, it's niggling in my brain.

I received a weird call last week, on Sunday. I was sleeping late, like I always do on Sunday, and I heard the phone ring in my state between sleep and awake. I hear my daughter answer and tell the person on the line that I'm still in bed. (Crap. It's noon. Who is she talking to, and they're going to think I'm the laziest human being on earth.") My daughter comes sneaking in....

"Mom? Joe just called. He said he'd call you back."

Both my eyes spring open, in spite of themselves. My husband, who is the 2nd laziest person on earth, laughs a little. He's right next to me, lazing away.

Me: It can't be.
Husband: Bet it is.
Me: No way. I haven't talked to him in seven years. Can't be him.
Husband: Bet it is.
Me: I'm going to get our daughter in here and interrogate her.
Husband: She's not going to know what that means.
Me: DAUGHTER!!!
Me again: Daughter, what did that caller say?
Daughter: He said he was an old friend of yours. Joe that used to live in Omaha.

My heart actually stopped beating. Thank God I'm trained in the Automated Electronic Defibrillator. I had to use it on myself. CLEAR!

Joe and I go way back. Way Way back to November of 1989 when we first met on O street, both of us crusing separately with friends on a late night. He had a bet with another carload of friends; whomever picked up cute girls first and was actually seen by the other car, got money. Before you feel sorry for us, remember that I was hot back then. 120 pounds of brown eyed, big boobed fury. I was 18. So was he. Anyway, we all knew about the bet, and Mindy and I were willing participants because, hey, nothing going on anyway, and I really thought Joe was cute. Six foot five inches, 250 pounds. Dark hair...He was totally a big teddy bear and completly my type. I had no idea on that night that we would eventually fall in love. As much in love as two 18 year olds can be.

Trivia: His real name is Joel. He hates that name. That was our "code" for a lot of years. I would locate him and ask for Joel. He would come to the phone acting like he knew it was me. Because he did.

We dated for quite a while. But the most amazing things happened: We stayed in contact for quite a while after we broke up. It was kind of like a convoluted long distance non-exclusive relationship. We both saw other people, but we were still inexplicably tied to one another.
He would end up calling every six months, and I would end up crying because, my God, I missed him so much. Our lives just never seemed to uh, meet. I guess it was obvious that he missed me, too, because he was the one who called me all the time. I never knew how to get in contact with him, but he always found ways to get with me.

Trivia: His mom and dad are divorced. He has two brothers and a sister who had like, 47 kids by the time she was 16.

I can just hear people now. "Oh, he just wanted to meet for sex." Or, "He just wanted to get some." or however crude way people might put it. But, the funny thing? Joe and I never slept together. Never in all those years. I was waiting for the right time, and when that time came, Joe was gone, run out of town by his mother. We've laughed about that aspect of our relationship for a long time. God, we were a joke...

Anyway, Joe was my first love. I can remember the first time I told him that I loved him. I was leaving his apartment and I got all the way down the stairs and almost 1/2 way to my car and I just stopped. I turned around and looked at him and just said it. The funny thing was it sounded almost like a question. "I love....you?" HA!! He just smiled and told me he loved me, too. Those words never came easy to me. I can't tell you why, even. My family has always been very touchy-feely and I-love-you-ey, but for some reason, I felt those words, said to a boyfriend, were so significant, that they required a lot of thought and a lot of preparation that I wasn't sure I could give at 18. But, it felt right. And, it was true. We loved each other.

Trivia: He used to drive a '71 Monte Carlo and he was very worried about the speaker wires getting messed up. Everyone who got in his car got the warning, "Watch the wires." It was hilarious.

I last talked to him seven years ago, after my daughter was born. He had had a son 2 weeks before my daughter was born. Joe Jr. He told me he was getting married to Joey's mom.

Trivia: When I last actually laid eyes on him, I was engaged to who would become my husband. Joe asked me not to invite him to the wedding because, "he just couldn't take it." That last visit, he asked me to run away with him. I obviously refused.

So.....Joe called. I didn't talk to him the first time, but I figured if he was going to go to the trouble of saying who he was, then he would call back. I asked my husband about 47,329 times if he would be bothered by my talking to Joe. Husband assured me he would not. And, I believe him. He's very trusting, and it's not like it would be a romantic conversation after all these years. Joe and I are strangers. It turns out he located me by getting in contact with my grandma in my hometown. She gave him my phone number because he knew all this stuff about me to prove that he was actually a friend. When he called back, it was just like old times. With the exception of my husband sitting in his recliner about 6 inches away from me, which is exactly how I wanted it. It's not like we were going to have phone sex, for Christ's sake. We were two old friends

Triva: I blogged about Joe a while ago, but was too chicken to post it. It's saved as a draft. Maybe someday I'll publish it. That was way before he called. Odd.

Joe lives in Iowa. He was hurt on the job a while ago and is at 50% disability. He survived lung cancer and being shot. (The being shot was a drive-by in Omaha shortly after the first time we broke up.) He struggled with after effects of the gunshot. It got so bad that years and years later he was in and out of the hospital for it.

What else can I say? I could go on, literally, for hours and hours. About how we felt about each other and the things we used to do together (no perversion, thank you. Remember, we never had sex.)

Yet, there's Joe, plaguing my dreams again. I know some people (the 2 that read this) might say, "God! What is her problem! She's sayinig she's happily married, and she's blogging about an old boyfriend?? Screech!!! She's lying!! She's this...she's that."

Assuming my marriage is the reader's business, I will make this clear: I am blogging about an old friend. I have blogged about old friends before. Cindy. Angie. Colleen...Etc..And, there will be more to come. Believe me. But, remember your first love? What would you feel if, assuming you haven't had contact with them for awhile, they called you? How would you feel? I'm not one to normally think of "what might have been". I'm just not that type of person. I never have been. It does no good, and it could probably drive a person crazy. But, Joe? He was something. I have his phone number and he has mine, and I can't call him. I can't do it. Why? The Heart is a Fucking Liar. I don't want it really to remember then. I don't really want it to say, "Heyyyyyyyyy! What about....." I don't want that, I don't need that.

See where I'm coming from on this? I don't even dream that much about him directly. It's just, if my dreams had a marquee, it would say, "He's back."

Trivia: I had to break it to Joe that I am no longer a brown eyed big boobed beauty. That gaining 100 pounds since I've been married has really blurred those things a little. Except for the boobs. They're still big. Kinda down by my thighs, but big. Just in case you needed a visual. His response? "Are you happy?" I had to tell him I was happy with my life, but not with my weight. He said, "If you're happy, that shit doesn't matter." Yeah, he'd think that if he saw me. Gross.

After the conversation was over, my husband just laughed. "Sounds like you had a good talk." He is so totally at ease with it. He has never even brought it up since that call. If I were me, I'd be interrogating me all the time. "Did you call him? Has he called you? Have you seen each other?" But, alas, my husband is not me. I don't know what else to say. I am pretty sure by this point I've made a horrible impression on those who know me and a worse impression on those who don't. (My reader base is huuuuuuuuuuuuge, mind you. At least 3 people read this.)

Anyway, that's my Joe story for now. Believe what you will. We're old friends. But, if you're sitting in judgement of me, think back to your first love. Close your eyes. Remember them. Think of their voice, their touch, their laugh. The things you shared. The times you told each other you loved one another. Then, tell me your marquee. I won't screech. I promise. It's the heart that's the fucking liar. Not me.

The Funniest Thing That Ever Happened

I was looking through Chicago Bears stuff on eBay. I am obsessed with the Chicago Bears. I went to a Chicago Bears game. I have a Chicago Bears tattoo. If I ever had another kid, their name would be Chicago Bears. This reminded me of a hilarious story... I will share.

I have been a Bears fan since 1978. This is nothing compared to my mother. She has been a Bears fan since around 1965. The REAL throw-back days. She can remember the exact play when Gale Sayers got hurt. Walter Payton is one of her heroes. My mother loved Walter Payton as much as his own children did, I am sure. And, I had the horrifying job of notifying her that the great running back, Walter Payton, had succumbed to the liver disease that had been ravishing him. That was the worst phone call I had to make. You get the point.

The funny story comes from a scene at my mom and dad's house. Seated around the living room are me, my mother, my father, my sister, my sister's boyfriend-du-jour, John, and my brother. We are talking about sports in general. Here is how it went.

The talk has centered around baseball. The Atlanta Braves (My favorite baseball team. Well, really the only baseball team I like. I don't have a Braves tattoo, but I did see two games.) are in the playoffs. They have the best record in the major leagues.

Angie (me): I can't believe how good the Braves are doing this year. They have the best record in baseball, you know. Chipper is a maniac.

Amy (my sister): They are doing really good. I like them.

John (sister's boyfriend): The Braves are worthless.

All of us stare at him. I make an odd sound, like a derisive laugh.

Angie: They're doing pretty good for a worthless team. I would say first place in the entire league isn't exactly worthless.

Amy: Yeah.

John: Well, you know what I mean.

Angie and Bob (my brother): No, we don't actually.

Dad and I give each other looks. Where in the hell did Amy get this one?

Linda (My mom. The Great Bears Lover and Walter Payton Defender): I don't even really like baseball. Except for college. I can't wait until football season!

General cheers from around the room. We are a football lovin' family.

Angie: I wonder if the Bears are going to win more than three games this year. (It was a lean few years).

Linda: Probably not.

Clyde (my dad): They will probably beat the Packers.

Amy: Anyone can beat the Packers.

General consensus around the room.

Linda: Okay, I'm not going to pretend like I remember exactly what she said here, but it definitely had something to do with Walter Payton. What happened afterwards was so horrifyingly hilarious that most of what happened directly prior to this point is pretty much gone.

John: Walter Payton is worthless.

Complete.
Total.
Dead.
Silence.

I hear a sharp intake of breath, and realize it's me. I put my chin to my chest and just wait for it. I don't want to even LOOK at my mother, because, well, I think I would turn to stone if I placed my vision directly on her. My sister's shoulders sag. My dad snaps his head around so fast, I'm surprised he survived. My brother got up and left.

I look at my mom, and it's as if all animation has gone from her. She went from a three-dimensional character to a totally flat poster board, devoid of all emotion except the raw absolute hate she was radiating out of her very cardboard pores. I don't know whether to laugh or cry, to be honest. I figured this was John's last moments on earth, so I kind of wanted to look at him one last time, but instead I kept looking at mom. Was that just smoke I saw coming off her head?

Linda: What did you just say?

John: I said, "Walter Payton is worthless."

He just didn't get it. He wasn't trying to be a smart ass, he just didn't understand the gravity of the situation. He really thought mom didn't hear his expert football analysis.

Me: I think what John meant was....(I am at a loss for words. I don't like this guy at all.)

Me again: I think what John meant was...Walter Payton is worthless... I let that hang in the air and quickly whip my head towards my mom.

For the first time in maybe her entire life, my mother was speechless for a moment. She just sat there staring her death rays at John, and I figured if he weren't so oblivious, he might get a clue and jump out the nearest window before mom actually got off the couch to slay him.

Clyde: Oh God. Here it comes.

Linda: (In a deadly, level voice) Did. You. Know. That. worthless. Walter. Payton. Holds. The. All. Time. Rushing. Yards. In. The. N.FL.?

This statement was just dripping with venom. She went on to extol the virtues of Walter Payton, but I honestly don't remember what she said. I do remember chiming in and saying, "Soooooooo...do ya STILL think he's worthless?"

John had the sense and presence of mind to say:

John: Well, I didn't mean WORTHLESS. I just meant....(he thankfully trailed off again.)

John: I just meant, well, I LIKE Walter Payton and everything, but...Well, I mean...

He was finally getting it.

Angie: John, just shut up before she buries you in the backyard. Alive.

That was the end of that story. We still tell it around the fireplace once in a while. It's that good. I know it's one of those "you have to be there' or "you have to really love the Chicago Bears" stories, but I have NEVER and I mean NEVER in my life seen my mom run through so many emotions in my life, all with the undercurrent of "how shall I actually kill this kid" running through it.

I'd like to say the story of John had a happy ending, but he and my sister broke up shortly after that. One night, in front of my mom and dad's house, my sister accidentally shut John's hand in the car door. He went to the emergency room, and the doctors found a fairly large tumor buried in the flesh of his hand. They said that the accidental car door slamming probably saved him. My dad said if my mom would have gotten her way, they might have found a brain tumor because she would have slammed his head in the door, all the while quoting Walter Payton stats. I don't really know what happened to John after that. I'm guessing he'll never know how lucky he is that my mom didn't get off the couch.