Please don’t toss this aside expecting some sort of sappy soliloquy where I detail my deep and eternal appreciation for the concept that is “love.” I assure you that it is not. Nor is it a sarcastic tirade against false, demeaning feelings that only leave a person emotionally crippled and increasing their collection of felines. I promise it’s not that either. This is a story. It is also a rather painful one for me.
There was this girl. Her name was Meg. Admittedly, I was stricken with intense feelings of admiration and frequent heart palpitations. I liked her a lot, ok? She liked me too, as I had recently learned. The funny thing about cute girls is that they tend to be crazy. Well, Meg had a disturbing way of showing her affection. You might meet her for the first time and think you had stumbled upon an adorable angel of cute adorableness who could do nothing remotely wrong. If you thought that, you might end up in stunned silence when she revealed her true, sinister self.
You see, this girl possessed an appearance of sweet innocence. It was that very appearance that disguised her inner darkness. She was, and is, prone to violence and constant bitterness. Honestly, I don’t know how I was fooled. Meg managed to keep up the ruse for quite some time. She actually seemed nice for a while! I thought she might even be a promising prospect of romantic interest. How very wrong I was.
Before long, her motives came out and she could bury them no longer. One day, she lost control. We were with a group of mutual friends, being silly and doing the sorts of useless things that teenagers tend to do. Somehow, a small-rock throwing contest got underway. I don’t know why, as I was innocently minding my own business. Well, I made the mistake of getting between Meg’s projectile and Meg’s brother. If you read that sentence carefully, you’ll see that it clearly spells “danger.”
The rock hit me in the head! Yes, you read that right. She was fifteen years old and threw a rock at the face of a guy she apparently liked. Those aren’t mixed messages. Those are messages that have been put in a blender all weekend. I was confused. I am still confused.
I might be showing my ignorance here, but is that normal? It doesn’t seem like it to me. To this day, she claims that she meant to hit me in the chest and that she only did it because she liked me. I’m not sure why that’s reasonable, but she seems sure that it’s a legitimate excuse. Before anyone calls the police to inform them of a psychopathic girl with a penchant for stoning potential suitors, please know that it was a tiny rock and it was hardly a forceful throw. Still, it wounded my pride and gave me a captivatingly beautiful bruise.
Frankly, I don’t buy her story of it having been intended for my torso. She should have stuck with the “I meant to hit my brother” excuse. I’m fairly certain that she MEANT to hit me in the head. She MEANT to cause brain damage. For a psychopath, she’s actually pretty smart. What better way to trick someone into dating a crazy person than to give them brain damage? Sadly, it worked. Apparently, that rock hit me harder than I thought, because I still like her.
Actually, she’s sitting next to me now and encouraging me to tell this story. She finds it humorous to look back on. At that point in time, she felt horribly guilty. Now, she’s forgotten feelings of remorse and settled on chuckling about her own cruelty. I’m not sure if these romantic feelings I still feel for her are because of or in spite of the rock incident. All I know is that I still like her. I like her a lot. I might even love her. I just hope the throwing of a rock was a one-time deal. My poor brain cells can’t take any more abuse.
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