Brian Didn’t Drink Like I Did.
After my junior year, drinking had become a semi-regular occurrence – but vacations at the beach were special. Like skating, beach days didn’t require drinking. I loved the sunshine and splashing around, trying to tame those ocean waves.
But when night rolled around, I got lonely – until the video game craze struck our little campground. All the teenagers gathered inside the arcade. I could show off my Space Invaders skills and I’d learned the patterns on Pac Man; I even discovered Gorf in that arcade.
It was there, 600 miles from home, where I met Brian, my high school sweetheart. A gorgeous blond football player, Brian lived just 20 minutes away from me … at home. We were incoming seniors during our beach romance, but we stayed together at home, too. I dated Brian for almost my entire senior year.
I say “almost” because we had glaring differences. Most notably, Brian didn’t drink like I did. Sure, he drank on occasion; what high school football player doesn’t attend raucous football parties? But Brian’s idea of drinking was to walk around holding a red cup in his hand, high-fiving the other players. My idea of drinking was to consume as many drinks as I possibly could until I could no longer physically grasp my own red cup.
Brian was not your typical high school jock, meaning he wasn’t anywhere near as obnoxious and chauvinistic as the stereotypes imply. In fact, Brian was a really, really nice guy. He came from a good family and he did good things. He treated me well all the time. And in return, I treated him like crap.
When we were at the movies, I felt proud and happy to be with him. When we went out to eat, even at Burger King, Brian shined. He was funny and sweet and I loved hanging out with him.
But when we went to parties – which we did often, between my friends and his – we argued incessantly. And by “we,” I mean “me.” When I drank, all of my doubts and insecurities raged. Mostly, I argued with Brian because he was a nice guy.
I didn’t want a nice guy. I wanted a cute football player, sure, but I wanted someone who would drink with me. I wanted someone who would do stupid stuff and get in trouble, like I did. I wanted a bad guy. And no matter how long I stayed with Brian, he never became a bad guy.
Eventually, we broke up. We didn’t see each other again for many years.
During our summer break from college, Brian and I dated again. By then I knew enough to appreciate a nice guy – but by then … my drinking had become impossible. This time while we were dating, I moved out of my house, yet Brian continued to call. My parents had to relay the message that he wanted to talk.
When I finally returned Brian’s call, he very carefully worded his concerns: “Have you thought about what your choices are doing to other people, to your parents?”
My high school sweetheart had grown and matured in beautiful ways, but I fumed when I heard the word “parents” come from his mouth.
“I don’t care what it’s doing to my parents!” I screamed. “This is about me and what I want!“
It’s been 40 years since I slammed down the phone on Brian. If I could see him just one more time, I would like to sincerely apologize for being such a flaming idiot during our entire relationship.