And now the disadvantages of small town life...

Lest you think my last post was a little too warm and fuzzy, I've been reminded of some of the less pleasing aspects of small town life.

My mom mentioned yesterday that she had seen C, my previously discussed (strongly recommended to read this post to get our story) troubled high school sweetheart, a number of times in town lately, and he seems to have improved a great deal. He apparently had asked about my whereabouts, and requested that she get me to contact him when I returned home for the holidays.

I felt as though a great weight came off my shoulders, knowing that he is becoming re-engaged with life. I decided to make the effort to contact him, which I had resisted for so many years, thinking it was his choice when he wanted to reach out, as a high school ex-girlfriend may be the last person he wanted to hear from when dealing with his demons.

Fast forward to last night, at a lounge, enjoying a martini with the nearest thing I've ever had to a life-long best friend.

(We've know each other since we were ten, and my parents raised her like she was a daughter, with her living with us for period of time. We had a slight blip in the radar at around 19-20 years old, which is another story for another post, but have done reasonable well at re-patching things up over the past 5 or so years)

We are talking about the end of her last relationship a few months ago. She blurts out "I'm actually dating someone." She pauses.

Now, readers, I'm sure you can see this coming a mile away, due to my lame attempts at foreshadowing, but it took me from out of left field.

"It's actually someone you've dated."

I search my mind, and quickly decide, for no apparent reason, that it must be the summer fling I had at 15. It seems like the only possible option. I look at her quizzically.

"It's C."

I stayed silent for a moment, really unsure of what to say.

"I just felt like I needed to tell you in person, straight up."

It wasn't jealous I was feeling, most certainly. I hadn't seen the guy in five years, and wasn't holding my breath for any sort of reconnection, even on the level of a friendship.

I just felt really ill at ease. As if things were a little polluted. I just never thought that the boy I would usually refer to as my first love would ever be sleeping with my best friend.

And while I've been aware of the multiple romances that have taken place in the space between when him and I said goodbye and the present, somehow the fact that he is with her seems to put a little chink in my memories, which are really what I cherished. Because, being my best friend, a number of the memories of those times also involved her. Involved the three of us.

I took a deep breath.

"Thank you for telling me the truth-- I really appreciate it. And know I'm not mad at you. More than enough time has passed for there to be any formal boundaries like that. You just have to understand that in this moment, this just feels really weird."

Weird is still the only word that applies, I guess.

I know it's not a big deal, in the long run.

Crossing boundaries is part of the package of small town life.

Before the Duke, virtually every boy I'd ever kissed had kissed one of my friends.

I remember, after a party, trying to go to sleep on a bedroom floor, only to realize that I was nearly pressed up against the kissing bodies of my good friend and the boy who dumped me a month or two earlier.

My sister even went on a date or two with a fellow I'd had a two-week "relationship" with in Grade 9.

I recall, just a few years ago, a close friend coming back from a visit home, recounting a kiss, and me laughing out loud, saying "I think you just finished your reign as being the last of my friends from high school who hadn't, at least once, kissed the same guy as me!"

Another reunion had three of us girls at a table, watching an old high school friend walk to the bar, suddenly realizing that all three of us had slept with him.

It all was a little incestuous, in reflection. But you kind of just learned to grit your teeth. These odd boundary crossings were just another fact of life when the range of possibilities were so limited.

It is a relief to know that, when I kiss my guy, though I am not the first lips he's kissed, it is not as though I am becoming tangled up in my own history.