People always say that you should live your life with no regrets. That’s all well and good, but sometimes you don’t realize you’re doing something you’ll regret until it’s too late.
Such is the case with something I regret. It happened so long ago that I know it’s silly to still feel bad about it – or even to think about it – but I can’t help myself sometimes. If I had acted differently in this situation, the entire course of my life could have been different.
Or it could have been exactly the same. But that’s the point – What if…?
Growing up I was always overweight. Not just chubby, but significantly overweight. I wasn’t the heaviest girl in my grade, but I was close. At the start of every school year, in the first gym class, I would scan the other students, searching hopefully for one of the two girls who was bigger than me. Shorts and bathing suits – ugh.
So yes, I was big. But I was also a cool person. Really, I was! I’ve always been funny (at least I like to think so) – probably as a result of being heavy; I wanted people to see me as something other than the “fat chick” so I figured I’d be the “funny chick” instead. I’m reasonably smart. I’m loyal to a fault – I’ve often considered myself to be a better friend to others than they were to me (with a few notable exceptions, of course).
These positive traits have helped me through life. Once people got past the fact that I was carrying around far more than my share of weight, they would see that I was pretty cool. In fact, many times growing up, boys who picked on me would eventually see that I wasn’t so bad after all and would become friends with me. Imagine! (Of course, they were usually only friendly when there was no one else around, but still. Baby steps…).
When I was in sixth grade, there was an awards ceremony at my school. I ended up sitting next to this boy who was not the most popular kid, but was certainly among them. Let’s call him Brian. Brian was smart and cute and, while not my friend, was never mean to me, and that was a huge plus.
At first, I could tell that Brian was less than enthused to have to sit beside me. But I was my charming self, and soon enough I had him cracking up. I could tell that after the first few minutes he was genuinely enjoying himself. With me!
Brian and I rode the same bus, and a few days later, it happened.
Like all the popular kids, Brian always sat in the back of the bus. (Rosa Parks never would have guessed it…) This one particular day, I got on the bus home from school, and Brian was sitting in the second seat – on the aisle – with a friend, who we’ll call Chuck. As I passed them, Brian stopped me and said “Will you go out with me?”
Without pausing, I replied, “Shut up” like he was completely ridiculous, and continued toward my seat in the middle of the bus.
My reaction was that of a fat girl who had never been asked out before, and who imagined the only reason a cute, smart, popular boy like Brian would ask her out was as a cruel joke.
Here’s the thing, though: After that day, Brian, Chuck, and their friends picked on me relentlessly, where they never had before. In every class, on every bus ride. It was constant. Why? Why after Brian and I had such a good time at the awards ceremony did he start making fun of me? It made no sense.
Unless you consider the possibility that Brian wasn’t playing a cruel joke on me when he asked me out that day. What if he was serious? What if this junior high boy liked me despite the fact that I was fat, and was mature enough to admit that to his friends and fellow classmates?
It’s the only explanation I could come up with. Why, oh why, didn’t I ask him if he was serious when he asked me out? That would have given him an opportunity to either A – say that yes, in fact, he was serious (in which case I would have said yes and I would have dated a popular boy!) or B – say no and laugh in my face (which wouldn’t have been the worst thing I’d endured).
Instead all I can do now – and for the rest of my life – is wonder.
I’m not suggesting that my entire life would have been different if I had dated Brian. And I’m certainly not saying that I’m unhappy with my current life (because I’m not) and that I wish I had done something 15 years ago to set me on a better course. What I am saying, though, is that things could have been different – better – for me in school if I had dated Brian.
I wouldn’t have been picked on relentlessly on a daily basis – I was Brian’s girlfriend! I would have had more confidence. My whole world would have been opened up.
Or not. Everyone knows how junior high relationships go: “Dating” one day, broken up the next. It’s equally likely that if I had gone out with Brian everything would have been the same.
Now, of course, I can say that it all worked out for the best – I don’t want to have a different life. But my junior high school years were really difficult, and I can’t help but think it’s because I upset and embarrassed Brian when I broke his heart that fateful day on the bus in sixth grade.
I still feel bad about it when I think about it. Bad for myself, and bad for Brian. Sorry, Brian!
