IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY…

The Grand Valley days.

Oh; to be “young” (at turning 24 the next day) and in love (with an unrequited something) again!

I had met (did I call her “Racquel” or something in “The Bachelor” story? Yeah; we’ll call her “Racquel” here) my second semester at GV. We were part of the same Campus Ministry Spring Break Trip (“Campus Ministry” girls were, by default, slightly more humble and kinder; and we already had at least one common factor to share). We would go to Sarasota to help repair “Habitat For Humanity” Houses (“Helping build houses helps build bonds.”)

I had met her by the second day of our travels to even get to Florida (she was in the center seat sandwiched in between an acquaintance of mine and myself. The next thing that ANYONE knew, the two of us had each pulled out one earbud so we were treating our new neighbor to two completely different songs. I had no sooner seen her and officially met her than I wanted to impress her; I can’t speak for certain for what my buddy on her other side was thinking at the time). Anyway, that first chance meeting wasn’t our last.

I would go on to know Racquel for years. She became part of the core group of friends from that first Spring Break Trip who REALLY helped me through college (whether she knows exactly how much or not). We would hang out at Campus Ministry get togethers. We would talk at church. This group of friends was always the first to be invited each year whenever I scheduled a “Holiday Movie Night” in appreciation of my friends. I just HADN’T yet had the one conversation going on in my mind when it came to Racquel and myself (First of all, I’d been rejected by the first college crush that I had ever confessed my heart to maybe two weeks before meeting Racquel; second, a year into our friendship and when I was ready to SAY something, that was around the time that she showed up to “…Movie Night” with a guy who would then become her boyfriend. The UNSPOKEN truth will come back into play later).

From seeing Racquel, I knew that she was attractive (as in, attractive enough that I had fast tracked that opinion to “pretty,” then “beautiful.”) From talking to her that first time, and each time thereafter, I knew that she was sweet. From talking to her a little bit more, I soon realized that our birthdays were less than a year apart; as in she was born the year after me, but the day before.

With this knowledge, she began to invite me to her birthday celebrations while we were both at campus. I kept as straight of a face as possible upon getting these invites; but I could have danced a jig.

The first get-together was in her campus apartment unit the same year that she and her best friend (another part of the core group of my GV friends who truly helped mold my campus experience) lived in the same community as I. This being HER party (with my own birthday the next day), that meant a houseful of, obviously, her friends and I as one of several guests. I had already known that she was pretty and was extremely kind; that, naturally, made her popular. My own “popularity,” even back then, always had more to do with my being congenial toward others and putting my friendship out there first. So I could hang back as one more party guest, visit with the birthday girl, and strive to keep any talk on the “surface” level (I wasn’t about to complicate HER birthday with MY emotions. THIS will definitely come back into play in a moment)…

So, that was a birthday at her apartment complex. The NEXT year turned into an all-day, all-night shindig of all hanging out together at a State Park in the morning, hanging out on campus for a bit during the day, resting up, catching maybe a quarter of GVSU football, then hitting downtown GR. (Back then, GV Football was a dominant force; they were incredibly fun to watch and I didn’t just LEAVE games EARLY for just anyone. For Racquel, all bets were off. Off to Grand Rapids)…

My idea of a good bar scene is people-watching, sipping on a water and soda, stuffing my face with food, and random run-ins with friends and acquaintances; OCCASIONALLY what I would liberally call “dancing” if a good 80’s/90’s pop song comes up. By now, if I would be 24 the next day, Racquel was 23 NOW and HER idea of a good bar scene was…the popular idea. Amidst her group of our shared acquaintances, we all crawled from one bar to the next. “This is good! I’m hanging out with friends! I’m here for…”

11:30 hit and I had been out and about all day. I was starting to grow a little tired. Besides, I had just been around Rochelle all day and appreciating her sweetness for inviting me to partake in celebrations and her company. My heart had been beating like a snare drum for quite some time and a flood of words were swimming in my mind. A flood of something ELSE, far more visible and humiliating, was ready to find my eyes and cheeks. I was in the company of the core group of friends who had really walked me through my campus experience and, by now, most of them KNEW what an emotional mess I was. A buddy took me aside…

“Look, dude, she was just dancing with other guys. That doesn’t mean a thing. It’s her BIRTHDAY and we’re in the middle of a bar crawl; girls do that, man.”

I knew that part and that didn’t bother me. For another shared birthday weekend, I was sitting on the one conversation that I’d wanted to have with Racquel all along; just NEVER on her birthday weekend because…well, how selfish would it be for me to put her in a spot to shoot me down smackdab in the middle of her birthday…?

I’m good; I’ve been talked down from actual tears and this is a PARTY! “Exhaustion” is not for college students; we’re partying! Off to the next place…

(The day that I REALLY couldn’t take it anymore and finally DID have that DMF [Define-My-Feelings] talk is another story for another time…)