Chapter Twenty-Two
Bryson
I did hang out with one guy, Bryson, for a few days in July before senior year. He was a seminary student, a few years older than me, and he was gorgeous, with dark skin and light eyes. He had just started volunteering for the high school youth group at my home church.
One Sunday night after the church service, a few of the girls made plans to go swimming with Bryson and his roommates.
“Miriam, come over to my place and swim,” Bryson said with a wink. I was surprised to be invited. I didn’t know any of them very well.
Soon I was in the hot tub with some very hot guys and girls. I was a little nervous. Then, after Bryson’s roommate Todd asked me to do a little strut across the deck in my bikini, I was really uncomfortable.
“No way,” I said. “I’m not like that.”
“Yeah, leave her alone,” Bryson said, punching his roommate in the shoulder. Then he turned to me and whispered, “He’s been drinking. Just ignore him.”
After we dried off and went back to Bryson’s apartment, the guys started playing guitar and the girls made nachos. It was a late night before we said goodbye.
“Hey, let me get your number,” Bryson said as I was leaving. “We’re going bowling tomorrow. I’ll call you.”
“You better not give it to your roommate.” I smiled.
“Don’t worry,” he said, giving me another wink and a kiss on the cheek.
Bryson didn’t call me the next day but three days later.
“Hey babe,” he said casually. “You want to come over tonight?”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Not much. We’ll probably swim and watch a movie or something.”
“OK. What time?”
“Just come over whenever; we’ll be here.”
I arrived about an hour later. The front door was open, and Bryson was on the couch strumming his guitar.
“Hey there, little girl, come on in,” he said.
“Where’s Todd?” I asked
“He went out with some chick,” he said smiling. That meant we were alone together, which made me—well—just a little excited.
“Sit down,” he said.
“What are you playing?” I asked.
“Smashing Pumpkins.”
“Nice.”
After listening for a while, I got up and helped myself to a glass of water. Then I used the restroom and checked my hair and makeup in the mirror. When I came out, Bryson was lighting candles in his bedroom.
“Whoa,” I said, joining him in the bedroom. “You really know how to set the mood.” I nudged him on the shoulder.
“I like candles. They help me relax.” His eyes looked like a rain forest. “Have a seat,” he said. He lay down on his bed with his feet crossed and his hands behind his head.
“Where?” I asked. I didn’t see any chairs in the room.
“On the bed.”
I sat down at the foot of the bed, somewhat awkwardly.
“Tell me something,” he said out of nowhere. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“What happened between you and Paul?”
“Wow,” I said, totally shocked. “What—what do you mean?”
“You dated him, right? While you were in high school?”
I was literally on the edge of my seat. “Yes, we went out a few times. But how did you know?”
“Paul told me,” he said.
“He did?” I almost yelled. “He told me not to tell anyone at church! And he told you?”
“I’m sorry. Are you OK?” he asked, sitting up. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m actually—I am so—elated that he told you. But why were you guys talking about me?”
“Here’s the sitch,” Bryson said, leaning on his side on one elbow. He looked down, tapping his guitar pick on the bed. “I sort of have something going on with Marisa.” He looked up. “You know her, right?”
I nodded. It clicked that Bryson, in all of his sexiness, was not hitting on me but befriending me in order to glean some wisdom about Marisa. And I was OK with that.
“She was on my houseboat a few years ago. Really sweet girl. Isn’t she a senior this year?”
“Ya, that’s her. Well, Paul saw us talking and he said, ‘Watch out for those ballerinas. They’re deadly.’ ”
I laughed. Bryson winked.
“She’s a great girl,” he said. “I would love to take her out. But Paul said it was a really bad idea to date someone from the youth group; he said he knew from firsthand experience.”
“And he told you it was me.”
“Yep.”
“Yes, I would say it is a bad idea.”
“Can you tell me why? You know, from the girl’s point of view?”
I took in a deep breath and exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. “Do you want the long or short version?”
“Whatever you want.”
We sat on the bed for an hour or so, and I told him my story from beginning to end. The look on Bryson’s face was horrified at times, as I gave him a glimpse of the mind-set of a high school girl. I think he was afraid of me by the time I was through. However, I reassured him that I was completely over Paul, thanks to counseling and the grace of God.
Telling my story to Bryson was refreshing for a few reasons: I rehashed the past and saw how silly I had been, I used my story to help someone else not make the same mistake, and I examined my heart and acknowledged that I was completely healed. The thorn in my flesh was gone, and it felt great.
“So I should stay away from Marisa until she graduates,” he concluded.
“Yes. Girls can act more mature than they really are. And they think they are ready to get married right out of high school, but in reality, it takes some time away from home to establish who you are as an individual, you know?”
“Tell me—I mean if you don’t mind—what did Paul say that made you think he was planning to marry you?”
“It’s totally embarrassing, but I assumed and hoped that God had made it clear to him. I kept calling it a ‘God thing.’ ”
“So when he proposed to someone else, you were crushed, but it was God who crushed you really, because God didn’t tell Paul that he should marry you. Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Whoa. Ouch.” I scratched my face. “Maybe. I guess I was angry at God.”
“It’s crazy, if you think about it, how often people get ideas and then say the Bible or God told them to do it. It’s like using the Lord’s name in vain, using his name to justify what we selfishly want. It’s so wrong.”
“Don’t compare me to Hitler or anything. I’m just a confused girl from Burbank,” I laughed. “Wow. Well, this was really good for me. Thank you for listening.”
“No problem.”
Bryson walked me to the door. He stopped and leaned on the doorframe, looking down at his fingernails. “You know my brother and his wife just got divorced, right?”
“I did hear that, yes. I’m sorry.” I gave him a hug.
“Maybe I should stay away from the ladies,” he said.
“That’s what I decided to do,” I said. “I mean guys, of course. I decided I’m not going to date anyone my senior year.”
He looked relieved and smiled, trusting that I didn’t get the wrong idea about him.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
I drove away feeling like I had an ephemeral friend whose tempting eyes and skin were not for me. It was good to hang out with a hot guy without kissing him. It was good to see my maturity and self-control at a new level. I had been a good friend for a day, even if that was all he needed me to be. I felt healthy. Making good decisions brought peace to my life.
I dreamed about his eyes for a few days, and I waited for a call that never came. But I knew why it never came. I wrote a few poems about him, and soon the longing feeling was gone.