I’m awesome at remembering dates. I can remember the day Princess Di died, her birthday, when she got married (I remember a lot of royal stuff), the date Carolina won the NCAA tournament in 1982, and well a lot of other random stuff that for whatever reason made an impression on me and in turn I cemented the date in my psyche.
I haven’t seen or talked to Cindy Meredith since 8th grade graduation when half of the class went to Ragsdale and the other half to Southwest, but every year, December 20th, I remember her birthday. Her “Krush Grooving” birthday party where we “jammed to the hotest music around” was the beginning of my borderline OCD, one-way 18 year love affair with C.
For some f’uped reason on that night, I became enamored, obsessed with C and didn’t fully let go until I was in my 30’s. STUPID, STUPID, girl, I tell myself over and over.
I blame Guiding Light. At 13, I had already been watching soap operas for half my life. Soap operas in the 80’s, well, I guess, today too, teach you that true love means you can never be together, that something’s always going to get in the way of a fairytale ending. If that was the standard, I nailed it and deserved an Olympic medal.
C moved away 6 months after that party and I didn’t see him again for 5 years.
At 30, I finally “got” him, or at least so I thought for the 18 months we dated, flying back and forth between Michigan and Tennessee. When I “got” him, he was straight off a divorce, 30 pounds overweight, and we lived 8 hours apart. Seriously? I was a nut job over this boy. Again, STUPID, STUPID, girl, goes off in my head in a constant loop.
And tonight was no different than the 28 December 20th’s before it, I remembered. Cindy Meredith, where ever you are, “Happy Birthday.” I hope someday to forget.