*Because everyone thinks their love story is the first, best and most romantic - I give you the epic tale of 'Emmy Loves Chachi'...a drama-filled, chubby girl meets punk boy, unlikely, love story in serial form.
Of Dogs and Death
Being some one's "girlfriend" is always odd and splendid and exhilarating. You feel that silly thrill of excitement every time regular conversations necessitate marking someone as your own.
"Oh really? My boyfriend plays guitar too!"
"Well, I hate tomatoes, but my boyfriend loves them."
"My boyfriend and I stay on top of world matters. Why, just the other night we were talking about Bosnia."
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In late September Matt had a choir concert and I, of course, was his date. Suddenly I was going to be standing next to him and holding his hand in front of his fellow choir-mates (which included an ex-boyfriend of mine). To add to the hype, Matt's parents were attending this concert and after the non-hand-holding-incident, I was finally going to be acknowledged as the girl dating their son. I was determined to be flawless.
Side note: At this point in the story are you wondering why I keep putting this severe expectation on myself to appear perfect when it always ends in disaster? Yeah, me too.
I was to drop Matt off early at the concert hall in his tux and shiny black shoes. I would then go home and get looking gorgeous and return for the concert. We decided I would take his car so we could ride home together. Well, I was feeling pretty high on that power. Not only was I the "girlfriend", I was the "girlfriend who drives his car". Super cool.
I dropped Matt off and returned home to the Crack House. After much primping and styling I was ready to go. I glanced at the clock. Oh no! I was going to be late! I hopped into the car and headed through the swerving streets of the "Island": in Logan. It was already dark and I was so eager to not make a bad impression by being late that I sped up, taking turns and navigating the winding roads like I had so many times before.
And then it happened. A small pug dog appeared in my peripheral vision. It was running across the road from the left side. Before I even had tome to react it happened. As I slammed on my breaks I felt the little dog hit the drivers side of the car, then felt it get pulled under the vehicle. I felt bones breaking against the undercarriage and loud dog yelping punctuated my surprised scream. And then it was over.
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Instant sobs racked my body. I stopped the car, jumping out to look for the injured, and likely dead, dog. He was no where to be seen. I walked up and down the road, scanning the trees along the side of the road. But he was nowhere. All thoughts of being late fled my mind. I had a vision of a small girl heading out for school the next day and finding her dead dog on her front porch. I started canvassing the street.
I knocked on door after door and at door after door people explained that they couldn't understand me between my ragged sobbing. When i finally got out that I had hit a pug dog they told me it wasn't theirs and I moved onto the next house, growing more snotty and hysterical at each door. Finally I gave up and returned to the car.
I arrived at the concert 45 minutes late, but just in time to see Matt's solo performance. The concert ended soon afterward and I saw Matt meet his parents close to the front row. He spotted me and waved me over. I approached the happy family, still rattled from the accident. When I joined the group Matt looked at my face and said, "Is everything okay?" and I broke down. A fresh bout of crying and snot assailed me as I explained what had happened. Matt's parents were very sweet and reassuring and so was Matt. He put his arm around me and let me know it was okay. I was still a little red-faced when we took this picture.
After the concert I had one of the most horrible thoughts of my life. What if I couldn't find the dead dog because he was....stuck...under the car. Oh my sweet Judy. I walked out to the parking lot of the concert hall with Matt, crying and clutching his arm while keeping my eyes closed in fear. He dutifully checked the undercarriage of the car. No pug dog.
The rest of the night stands out in my mind as a pivotal point in our relationship. Yes, I had cried in front of Matt before, but not like this. We drove up and down the street which was the scene of the crime all night long. And all night long, while we drove, I cried the ugliest cry there is. Snot, phlegm, red nose, puffy eyes. As we drove I kept sobbing and saying, "I'm a killer! I killed tonight!" (yeah, you know I can be dramatic, right?)
Matt reassured me, cared for me, drove all night, checked the bushes and told me I was not a killer. He was nice. So nice. I think I began to fall in love with him on that night that the pug dog gave up the ghost. But rough waters were about to rock our relationship.
*To read all of the chapters in order click here.
