Beth and I were polishing off the last few pieces of the pizza we had made together earlier that evening.
We were on my living room couch and her legs were draped over my lap. I shoved the last piece of pizza in my mouth when Beth asked me, "So tell me the story about Lynn."
My mouth swung open a like a trapdoor and I'm sure a few crumbs tumbled onto my shirt. Soon after, a smile came across my face, "Are you sure?"
"Wait," she said, jumping off the couch and heading toward the fridge, "I'm going to need some wine for this one."
Beth returned with a glass and a bottle of wine. She immediately poured herself a healthy amount. Girl was all business.
So I did. I told her my story, from start to finish. Beth sat and listened tentatively, refilling her glass when it was empty. But, I'm not shy about discussing my past regarding my first real relationship (needless to say), but she was a real trooper to sit through it all.
When I finished my story, I figured it was only fair to quid pro quo the situation. I wanted to know about her history of relationships.
So@24: So what about you? What was the story about your first love?
Beth: Meh. We don't need to talk about it. Trust me, it's not worth discussing.
So@24: Hahahaha. Come on! I told you mine! It's only fair!
Beth's signature smile faded and her lips transformed to a thin line. The bottle of wine was now empty (good girl!) and she gulped the remainder in her glass.
Beth: No. Really. I don't like to talk about it. Some other time though, I promise.
I definitely was taken aback by Beth's stern reaction. Every interaction I have had with her thus far was all fun & games. One of the most carefree, jovial, relaxed persons I have had the fortune of coming across thus far. We really hadn't had a "serious" conversation at this point.
But me playfully trying to get Beth to talk about her ex was like when you rough-housed with that one really cool babysitter, only to take things too far and the babysitter suddenly breaks character and says, "No, seriously. Quit it. I mean it." It really throws you for a loop.
I knew that it wasn't my place to push the issue further, but a part of me couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. What was making this natural Ferris Bueller turn to Ben Stein?
Why couldn't this girl discuss her ex? Why couldn't this completely open, down-to-earth girl tell me the back story of her ex? This wasn't like her.
I have no frame of reference for this type of situation and it's hard for me to relate to. I mean, I have no problem discussing my past relationship (coming from someone who created an public domain based on it) and so I always forget that most people don't have the fortune of still being friends with their ex. Or at least of having it not end on extremely devastating terms.
But still, I can't deny the fact that I was a little thrown off by this. I mean, what was there to hide? The a variety of absurd scenarios flashed through my mind and they got more ridiculous at I allowed my imagination run wild:
"He's actually a distant cousin. But I honestly didn't know at the time."
"I kept his eyelids in a mason jar. But it wasn't a big deal as the courts made it out to be."
"Long story, but he's the reason I have a peg leg. See?"
I feel like if there's a strong potential for a girl to be around for the long run, she should be forced to give this information up, right? I mean, it's like when you buy a potential car... you always demand to see the history to determine the Blue Book value, right? I should know how many times this car visited a mechanic and for what reasons!
I guess I have a theory that past relationships tells a lot about who a person is today. It really shapes you and molds you.
Or maybe that is just me.
I'm exaggerating my concern for comedic effect, but I'd be lying if I didn't raise an eyebrow about the conversation (or lack thereof). But I'm fine with waiting for her to tell me when she's comfortable and ready to do so.
Because really, who wants to force this thing out of someone? It'll come naturally.
I just hope she doesn't have a peg leg. Or at the very least, scurvy.