Two weeks ago I wrote that I had been cheating on my blogs and webcomics by listening to podcasts all week as I crafted my freaking heart out. While I contemplated that posting I thought about cheating. I thought about when Jordan and I got married. I told him I would never divorce him, unless he cheated on me, then it totally would. Which is a bit hypocritical of me, because I cheated on someone once.
It’s true. And it was really dumb. I’ll tell you why it was dumb, aside from the obvious reason that cheating on someone you love is really, really dumb.
I was dating the best boyfriend I had in high school. He treated me like a goddess, respected my boundaries (even when I encouraged him to push past them) and took me back after I broke up with him. I don’t know if he knows that I cheated on him. I might have told him once, but thanks to my sieve like memory I can’t recall if that actually happened.
During my high school career I frequented a friend’s house for party time. His parents let us drink to the point of excess and smoke our little lungs out. It was a house of freedoms, sweet, sweet, illegal freedoms. During one of these little get togethers who should show up but “Tim.” (We all remember Tim right?) My wonderful boy had left the party, in fact the whole party was winding down, when Tim announced he needed a ride home.
Since I’m such a Helpy Helperson I offered to take him home. The desert is pretty spread out, so the drive was not a quick five minute job. It took at least fifteen to twenty minutes to get Tim to his house. As we drove we talked about the past. How we had dated, how he had screwed everything up and then all the sudden we were making out in the front seat of my dad’s Camaro.
I’ll be honest, this was not an “Opps, I tripped and landed on his lips” sort of thing. I knew as soon as I offered to give him a ride what was going to happen. I was a bad, bad person that night. A few days later I broke up with my wonderful boy. Then suddenly I realized what I’d done and my god, how I hated myself. I had lost a bit of my innocence and there was no going back. I couldn’t believe what a bitch I had been. I wanted to go back, I needed a do over.
I have never, ever cheated on anyone since. Some people might think that if you’ve cheated once you’ll do it again. Not me. The thought of hurting someone like that again just kills me. I still feel bad about it when the memory pops in my head. Some people say not to regret the choices you’ve made, that they make you who you are or whatever. I can’t say that I have no regrets because of course I regret that. I will forever wish I hadn’t given that boy a ride home, that I hadn’t put myself in that shitty situation. I will forever remember how the universe punished me too.
On my way home from Tim’s place that night the radio started acting crazy. The stations kept switching from one to another and the volume kept going up and down, so I pulled over to see what the crap was happening. I pulled over because my dad said not to mess with radio while I was driving. So I was responsible and pulled over, right onto the soft shoulder of sand. Mistake number two for that night.
After I fixed the radio, (there was a tiny remote that went with the radio and it was being smashed by a cup in the cupholder, so every time I hit a bump or dip it would screw with the radio) I noticed I was going to be late for curfew, so I tried to get out of there quick. Mistake number three.
I didn’t move. I tried again, not realizing that every time I tried to go forward I was burying the back wheel deeper in the sand. I ended up having to call my dad to come dig me out. Which made me feel worse, because my daddy can get a little scary when he’s angry, which is what he was. But not as mad as that time I made the Camaro fly. He was pretty mad about that.