St. Valentine's Day Massacre

Well, the situation with Cassie didn't exactly resolve itself as we all hoped. I'd been dreading the confrontation for a week, but also looking forward to what I foolishly thought would be the end. What an idiot I am. I would have to say that Tuesday was probably the worst Valentine’s day of my life. “Worse even than high school?” you ask. Yes, it was. Believe it or not, there are numbers less than zero.

The day didn't start badly. I actually had a pretty cool dream that night. I dreamt I got in a fight with Nathan Jones. Nathan Jones is an Australian professional wrestler; he’s 6ft 10 inches tall, he weighs 340 pounds, and very little of it is fat, as you can see by the picture on the right. I’d seen him in a couple of my beloved Kung Fu movies, but I never imagined I’d be fighting him in my dream. I won by hitting him in the head with a microwave (we were fighting in a Sears).

So that was actually a fairly exciting dream. But from the moment I awoke the dread gradually creeped upon me, a mounting nausea that I could suppress for brief periods, or forget about during class, but never fully escape.

For the first half hour of class, she didn’t come in. I thought maybe fortune was shining on me, that she wouldn’t show, and would be spared my falsehood. But as I sat, sweating bullets, not daring to hope, she finally walked in. She apologized to the professor, explaining that she’d been in D.C. over the weekend, and because of a big blizzard we’d had up here, she’d just gotten back an hour ago. Which begs the question of why she had to come in at all, but I think we all know the answer.

Fortunately, she had to sit across from me, and so for the next 45 minutes I avoided looking at her while a visiting chiropractor explained the shoulder muscles to us. But eventually we had a break, and of course, she homed in on me like a used-car salesman.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I replied. Just do it, don't think.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Cassie,” I said. “Last week when we talked about getting ice cream, I forgot today was going to be Valentine’s Day…”

“Yeah, I thought about that too,” she interrupted.

I don’t think she got it, I thought. It seemed more like she was trying to save an awkward situation.

“Yeah, so, obviously tonight I have plans,” I added.

“Oh,” she said, “girlfriend?”

Now, it should be known that I am a terrible liar. I don’t like it, I’m not good at it, and I’m really at a loss when I don’t believe in the lie, which is definitely the case in this situation. So that may help explain why my response was to look a the ground and say:

“Mmmmmmmmmm.”

God, I suck. But I just couldn’t face the lie. Saying “I’m single,” isn’t particularly embarrassing, but lying that I have a girlfriend was odious. It just drove my relationship status home with a railroad spike. “Sorry, I have a girlfriend,” NO YOU DON'T YOU LOSER! That’s basically what it was like.

“Ok,” she said, “we’ll just do it some other time.”

“Uh huh. Anyway, so did you just get back from DC?” I was desperate to change the subject.

“Oh, yeah, I got stuck cause of the blizzard. So what are you and your girlfriend doing tonight?”

“AUUUGUGUGUGUGUG,” I floundered.

“Late dinner or something?” She persisted.

“We’ll work something out,” was my ultimate lame response. This was just the most horrid, awkard conversation ever. This was “argument-with-girlfriend-on-long-car-ride” awkward. Maybe worse.

Fortunately, she didn’t work in my group, because we were working on the upper leg, i.e. the thigh, and I really didn’t want to take our relationship to that level. Class ended, and I was talking to another girl, a friend of mine, and of course Cassie came over. She first talked to one of the girls in her group, who was nearby:

“Are we ready to go?” she asked the girl?

“Yes,” said the girl.

“Well, I’m not,” I quickly chimed in, and walked away, to where my backpack was. Naturally Cassie followed right behind me, like an extra party member in a Final Fantasy game.

“Hey, so I was thinking about the ice cream. Do you just want to do it tomorrow?”

Man this girl could not take a hint.

“Um, I’m casting for my movie all week,” (I’m a student filmmaker up here). “I’ll probably have a shooting schedule by Sunday, so….”

“No problem,” she said, “we’ll just do next Tuesday.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!

What was I failing to communicate? Mercifully she left, leaving me to quiver helplessly with a combination of anger, helplessness, and self-loathing. I’d hoped the whole ordeal would be over, but I’ve just made it worse. Like watching a movie where the husband lies to his wife, and you say NO, YOU FOOL! IT’LL ONLY LEAD TO YOUR DOWNFALL! We’ll I’m that protagonist.

And next week presents another problem. We're going to be working on the back, which is fine, but I believe the guys in the class will be expected to go shirtless, and I don't think Cassie is going to be turned off by that. Damn my good looks.

So I simply must resolve the situation next week, because I swear this girl is ruining the class for me. The whole time I have to dance around the room, trying to stay as far away as possible, making sure we won't work at the same table, and then suffer through awkward conversations when she inevitably hunts me down during the breaks, like I'm a Goddamn 10-point buck. Which I suppose is exactly what she's thinking.

And it extends beyond class. These last two days I've gotten sick, and this happens so rarely that I can only assume Cassie is to blame. Maybe worrying about it weakened my immune system, or a higher power is punishing me for my lies, but it's no coincidence. And I did take my own advice, and listen to "Rythym of the Night." In fact, the very first thing I did when I got home Tuesday night was blast that song as loud as my little Powerbook speakers would allow, and it helped, but the song is only four minutes long, while this torture is forever.

But there’s no more sense in propagating the lie. Cassie will never give up, she’s shown that much about her. Next week I’ll have to just say, “Cassie, I really appreciate the invitation, but I just don’t see it working out with us.” It won't be easy, and I could easily choke just like I did two days ago, but I just need to practice, and remind myself that it may be awkward, but it's only sixteen words, and they might bring a world of peace to me. So in a way I look forwards to next Tuesday, when I can walk up to her, look her in the eyes, and confidently say, "Wugagaggagagaguuag."