At one point or another, and maybe even still. It was something they all could say. Some did. Some didn't.
Dean.
He moved to town in the third grade. He was short and had glasses and brown hair that never stayed slicked down. Ellen had to be his 'special friend' for the first week and had to show and tell him everything about the school. Ellen was very nice to him, so Dean thought to sneak her a kiss behind one of the bookshelves during library time. But instead of being in love with him now, Ellen got mad. "You shouldn't have done that! Now I might have a baby! Do you want a baby with me?" Yes, ma’am, he would, if that's what she wanted. "I don't want a fucking baby,Stupid" she said, slamming her foot down onto his. "Don't ever talk to me again!"
So he didn't. But he looked at her an awful lot. Like even still.
Mark.
He had her as a girlfriend for about three months. He’s pretty sure she only agreed to date him so he would keep his mouth shut. "But even still, I really dug that girl. Do you know what happened to her? Does she live back home still?" They had got on good, he says, they had a lot in common, but they had been friends for a year, so of course they did. They didn't have many chances to make out or anything, but "we held hands a lot, man. Actually, all the time she would give my hands these really great massages. Back then it was enough." A laugh. But then he's so serious, "She had the sexiest knees ever. Honestly. They're something I notice all the time because of her. You don’t know where she is?"
Joel.
Okay, she agreed, after he asked her five times in one hour if she would be his girlfriend. He lived 20 kilometers away in the middle of nowhere, so her parents wouldn't find out if she just didn't talk about him to anyone. Besides, how often could he come back in to town anyway? She figured she wouldn't see him again for a month. Instead, he tried to see her a few times, but as much as five times a week. At first it was fun because he was cute. But after the first two bouquets of flowers, it was hard figuring out what to do with them most of the time. She couldn’t just throw them away, but she couldn't keep bringing them home either. The "Friendship Week" excuse could only be an excuse for one week. She asked him to stop, but he wouldn’t. "A lady deserves flowers every day," he reassured her. After three months, she felt like she was running out of places to put the bodies. She thought for weeks on how to break up with him. Then one day she told him, "Flowers are the scent of death," when he tried handing her the orange flowers, even though they were beautiful and hard not to take from him this time. It was all like a dare when she said it, "I'm breaking up with you."
He was heartbroken right away. He slammed the flowers on the ground and she watched his sneakered foot slam down over and over on them. 1,2,3,4,5, just the stems, not the blooms. Then he walked away because he was going to start crying. He continued crying at home every night for weeks. He bought himself some candles and played his music and dedicated it to her for months. He thought about her always even though he doesn’t see her for years.
Then by chance, late one Saturday night, they find themselves walking the same way. For Ellen, his company is a relief because she always scares herself walking home alone after dark. “I imagined the worst,” she tells him. “Old, forty year old men with wagging tongues and bald spots.” He said to her halfway up the hill, "You're still the same. Do you know what's still the same about me?" "Ah, that you still love me?" she was flippant with her reply, then teasing, poking him with a finger into his side as he grew quiet and then stopped walking. When she turns to look at him, she sees that it was true. So bare-bone in his stance, in his eyes. He watches her too. And it happens. Now she too would always love him. It isn’t in the same way, but even still, it's the lover’s revenge, she will always be the sorry one. He turns himself completely and he walks away.
Duncan.
He found her bottle along what he thought was his secret patch of Lake Erie shore, two months after its launch, tangled with some old garbage and muck. Her first grade class had made a bus trip to send them off to a nearby beach town. They were allowed to play along the autumn shoreline, as long as they took off their shoes and rolled up their pants. He begins his letter, "Dear Ellen, Unfortunately, we live in the same town, though I did find your bottle a distance from it. I work for the local paper. I hope we will be good friends…" He writes to her once a month, in care of the school and the teachers all give her time to answer him back and they all mark her favourably in English. When she starts at the high school, he starts writing to her at her home address. What's this about? Whose Duncan? her mother waving the open letter in front of her. “Duncan," she answered her mother, “You mean Duncan? My pen pal Duncan? From grade ONE?" Oh, her mother had said, handing her back the letter. I forgot about that. Sorry. But Ellen didn't trust her mother. She wrote back to him. 'Dear Duncan, My mother is going to read all of your letters. As I write this, it dawns on me that the teachers probably read your letters too. Probably mine too. But that doesn't matter. We’re talking about my mother and I think she would freak out if she knew how old you were. Let's just meet somewhere instead. How about at-' So, Ellen and Duncan started meeting monthly for lunch.
When Ellen is 19, Duncan will get her a job in his department. One night, working late together, he will pat her on the ass and say, "Good job." When he lets his hand linger there, he will see the immediate distaste on her face, before she cries, changing tactics, "You can't do that. What are you thinking?" And he will say, "Screw you, Ellen. You go out with all those boys and let them do God knows what to you and I can't even slap you on the ass after all these years? After giving you this job so you could get out of your mother's house?" But what he will be really thinking is: 14 years. I've wasted 14 years. Then Ellen will yell at him, “Duncan, you're old. You should know better. I quit.” And he will think, She’s right. I’m 46 years old and a fucking fool, but he will still say to her, “Fuck you, Ellen, fuck you. You’re fired." And she will laugh and toss him the finger, over her shoulder, as she walks out the door.
Dean.
He moved to town in the third grade. He was short and had glasses and brown hair that never stayed slicked down. Ellen had to be his 'special friend' for the first week and had to show and tell him everything about the school. Ellen was very nice to him, so Dean thought to sneak her a kiss behind one of the bookshelves during library time. But instead of being in love with him now, Ellen got mad. "You shouldn't have done that! Now I might have a baby! Do you want a baby with me?" Yes, ma’am, he would, if that's what she wanted. "I don't want a fucking baby,Stupid" she said, slamming her foot down onto his. "Don't ever talk to me again!"
So he didn't. But he looked at her an awful lot. Like even still.
Mark.
He had her as a girlfriend for about three months. He’s pretty sure she only agreed to date him so he would keep his mouth shut. "But even still, I really dug that girl. Do you know what happened to her? Does she live back home still?" They had got on good, he says, they had a lot in common, but they had been friends for a year, so of course they did. They didn't have many chances to make out or anything, but "we held hands a lot, man. Actually, all the time she would give my hands these really great massages. Back then it was enough." A laugh. But then he's so serious, "She had the sexiest knees ever. Honestly. They're something I notice all the time because of her. You don’t know where she is?"
Joel.
Okay, she agreed, after he asked her five times in one hour if she would be his girlfriend. He lived 20 kilometers away in the middle of nowhere, so her parents wouldn't find out if she just didn't talk about him to anyone. Besides, how often could he come back in to town anyway? She figured she wouldn't see him again for a month. Instead, he tried to see her a few times, but as much as five times a week. At first it was fun because he was cute. But after the first two bouquets of flowers, it was hard figuring out what to do with them most of the time. She couldn’t just throw them away, but she couldn't keep bringing them home either. The "Friendship Week" excuse could only be an excuse for one week. She asked him to stop, but he wouldn’t. "A lady deserves flowers every day," he reassured her. After three months, she felt like she was running out of places to put the bodies. She thought for weeks on how to break up with him. Then one day she told him, "Flowers are the scent of death," when he tried handing her the orange flowers, even though they were beautiful and hard not to take from him this time. It was all like a dare when she said it, "I'm breaking up with you."
He was heartbroken right away. He slammed the flowers on the ground and she watched his sneakered foot slam down over and over on them. 1,2,3,4,5, just the stems, not the blooms. Then he walked away because he was going to start crying. He continued crying at home every night for weeks. He bought himself some candles and played his music and dedicated it to her for months. He thought about her always even though he doesn’t see her for years.
Then by chance, late one Saturday night, they find themselves walking the same way. For Ellen, his company is a relief because she always scares herself walking home alone after dark. “I imagined the worst,” she tells him. “Old, forty year old men with wagging tongues and bald spots.” He said to her halfway up the hill, "You're still the same. Do you know what's still the same about me?" "Ah, that you still love me?" she was flippant with her reply, then teasing, poking him with a finger into his side as he grew quiet and then stopped walking. When she turns to look at him, she sees that it was true. So bare-bone in his stance, in his eyes. He watches her too. And it happens. Now she too would always love him. It isn’t in the same way, but even still, it's the lover’s revenge, she will always be the sorry one. He turns himself completely and he walks away.
Duncan.
He found her bottle along what he thought was his secret patch of Lake Erie shore, two months after its launch, tangled with some old garbage and muck. Her first grade class had made a bus trip to send them off to a nearby beach town. They were allowed to play along the autumn shoreline, as long as they took off their shoes and rolled up their pants. He begins his letter, "Dear Ellen, Unfortunately, we live in the same town, though I did find your bottle a distance from it. I work for the local paper. I hope we will be good friends…" He writes to her once a month, in care of the school and the teachers all give her time to answer him back and they all mark her favourably in English. When she starts at the high school, he starts writing to her at her home address. What's this about? Whose Duncan? her mother waving the open letter in front of her. “Duncan," she answered her mother, “You mean Duncan? My pen pal Duncan? From grade ONE?" Oh, her mother had said, handing her back the letter. I forgot about that. Sorry. But Ellen didn't trust her mother. She wrote back to him. 'Dear Duncan, My mother is going to read all of your letters. As I write this, it dawns on me that the teachers probably read your letters too. Probably mine too. But that doesn't matter. We’re talking about my mother and I think she would freak out if she knew how old you were. Let's just meet somewhere instead. How about at-' So, Ellen and Duncan started meeting monthly for lunch.
When Ellen is 19, Duncan will get her a job in his department. One night, working late together, he will pat her on the ass and say, "Good job." When he lets his hand linger there, he will see the immediate distaste on her face, before she cries, changing tactics, "You can't do that. What are you thinking?" And he will say, "Screw you, Ellen. You go out with all those boys and let them do God knows what to you and I can't even slap you on the ass after all these years? After giving you this job so you could get out of your mother's house?" But what he will be really thinking is: 14 years. I've wasted 14 years. Then Ellen will yell at him, “Duncan, you're old. You should know better. I quit.” And he will think, She’s right. I’m 46 years old and a fucking fool, but he will still say to her, “Fuck you, Ellen, fuck you. You’re fired." And she will laugh and toss him the finger, over her shoulder, as she walks out the door.
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