Cries for Passion: Memoir of a Canadian Prairie Girl

By MJ Kuntz

I've had the fortune of encountering more than one great love in my life; great love from family, from friendships, and from the unconditional love of my children. But, the greatest love of all is when two hearts intertwine and become one. It is one of life's greatest aspirations - to love and be loved.
I've discovered each love I have loved and lost taught me a valuable lesson to take along my journey and carry with me throughout my lifetime.
One taught me the attributes of responsibility and direction, one gave me passion and affection, while another offered me nothing more than innocent friendship.
I also learned love

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: May 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228804895

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Cries for Passion

Copyright © 2019 by MJ Kuntz

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-0488-8 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-0489-5 (eBook)

I’ve had the fortune of encountering more than one great love in my life; great love from family, from friendships, and from the unconditional love of my children. But, the greatest love of all is when two hearts intertwine and become one. It is one of life’s greatest aspirations - to love and be loved.

I’ve discovered each love I have loved and lost taught me a valuable lesson to take along my journey and carry with me throughout my lifetime.

One taught me the attributes of responsibility and direction, one gave me passion and affection, while another offered me nothing more than innocent friendship.

I also learned love can hurt. It can damage your spirit by the one you’re supposed to trust most in this world.

The last but not least, one has brought me all the joys of life and true love in the arms of your soul mate - someone to share life’s journey with.

Someone who brought my journey full circle.

Prologue

Introducing the Star

This novel you are about to read is the story of my life. People, places, and explicit details have been modified to protect the innocent or the not-so-innocent for that matter. To delve deep into my mind to discover how I’ve arrived at this point in my life is startling, yet reassuring. To further analyze why I’ve done the things I’ve done and made the choices I’ve made gives me profound insight to how a soul adjusts and adapts to any given situation. I have come to realize most of my thoughts and actions stem from sexual abuse I suffered as a child from people close to me. But, that’s another story altogether.

It has been a therapeutic process in writing my memoir. That was not my intention when I started the endeavor, my only goal was a tale worth telling. This self-portrayal of my actions and emotions has made me realize it wasn’t all in vain after all.

I’ve meant no ill-will or malice in the telling of my story. I’m merely making sense of it after all these years to help heal myself and forgive others for the suffering and sacrifice we had to endure along the way. Wherever you find yourself within your life, it’s ultimately from your life’s decisions, you are the master of your own destiny – the good and the bad.

As I grow older, all I ever wanted and needed was peace and serenity. I had it from the beginning, yet I craved excitement and leapt into the unknown. It’s been a long and arduous quest for trust and honesty within my life. I’ve found with each intimate relationship; either they couldn’t offer me these things or I didn’t extend it to them. I learned to be suspicious of motives, not give my trust freely, and hurt them before they hurt me. In return, I’ve discovered heartaches heal, but scars remain.

This is the narrative of a girl exploring her world getting by with a little passion along the way, trying to relate to the world as she matured into a woman and found herself. I’ve been lucky in my life to have felt love and experienced being loved. At this point in my life, I can honestly say I’ve fallen in love again. I wasn’t looking for it. It merely happened, but when do we actually plan on being bitten by the love bug? I thought I’d never find those sweet feelings ever again in my adulthood as you seem to find so easily in adolescence.

Every love in my life has been unique since every man is unique in his own right. I’ll forever hold them dear to my heart and reflect with bittersweet memories associated with each one. They’ve all brought me different aspects of love and I am grateful for the experiences we’ve shared. I wish I could say it was all grand, but in reality, there were the heartache and hardship that came hand-in-hand with every love affair. I’m not placing blame or pointing fingers, I’m simply telling it from my point of view and accepting my part.

Did I learn from them?

We shall find out.

This is my account of these loves, the losses, and my life. It’s a rather ordinary story, yet an intriguing and an insane one fit to be fictionalized. I’ve seen it, felt it, and lived to talk about it. It spans three decades across five provinces, yet I still have living to do and places to go at the ripe age of forty eight. I shall begin by introducing myself and my present circumstances when I sat down with my thoughts and began writing my memoir.

In 2006, I was at the prime age of thirty six, to what some refer to as a ‘cougar’. I didn’t accept the terminology at first. Although, I learned to embrace it, believing it to be a positive expression of my age rather than a derogatory one. And, I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing firsthand the benefits of being ‘said cougar’.

I cannot classify my life by the means of my finances, but by the riches of love, friendship, and family. I have not been fortunate enough thus far, to have won the lotto or inherit money. Yet, when it comes to matters of the heart, I’ve had all the wealth in the world. Most of my choices were of poor taste. They were either, working stiffs or even worse, criminal minds. I went for the bad boy image every time, I seemed to look for love in all the wrong places, or perhaps I was looking for love to fix me.

I had a middle-class job or career, if you prefer, as a purchaser. I enjoyed my place of employment and my co-workers. I’d been married to Bobby Harwood, a co-worker, for the past few years. At this point, our marriage was on rocky foundation.

Whose fault?

We’ll get to that further along in the story.

I’ve raised three marvellous daughters even with my tumultuous lifestyle. My firstborn, Sasha, was sixteen. She hit the teenage years hard, but had a smart head on her shoulders. Tiffany, my second-born, was thirteen. A true rebel, need I say more. And, Danica, my baby at the time, was turning ten. The older two complained I protected her the most, I just may have when they were picking on her. Or, maybe it was a subconscious guilt I carried around to shelter her since I didn’t desire another child when I found out I was pregnant with Dani. I loved them all equally, no matter how they came into this world.

None of my children were Bobby’s. Sasha is born to one of my great loves, Phil Connor. Tiffany and Danica are from another one of those love tributes, Mitch Langdon. All these stories will unfold as I spin my yarn. You’ll meet many characters and be in for significant drama certain to fascinate you, frustrate you, and at other times, frighten you. I trust you’re up for the journey and will come along with me in hearing my cries for passion.

Chapter 1

Awakening the Passion

I was a petite teenager with brunette, permed hair – a signature hairdo of the 80s. I grew up in a small town in southern Saskatchewan, the oil and gas industry drove our economy. Coal mine spill piles and an ominous power station was our scenery in the distance. Our town was a little dust oasis in the middle of the prairies with wheat and pump jacks littering the fields.

Life was wonderful and simple in our minuscule part of the world. We had one radio station, a high school that looked like a penitentiary, and an outdoor swimming pool everyone congregated to during the hot, dry summer months. We had many places to party as teenagers though, and they were named accordingly so you knew where to gather on a Friday night - The Cove, the Sandpits, or Barn 22.

I lived with my parents and four siblings; a typical, dysfunctional family. We had a comfortable life growing up, we didn’t know the struggles our parents endured as they raised us. Mom stayed home while Dad earned a living working in the oil patch. He had been raised on a farm, yet chose the patch over farming to make a living. His identical twin brother, Uncle Charles, took over the farm while Dad ventured out on his own, in the hopes to make more money.

The eldest, my one and only sister, Valerie was already moved out and married with her own daughter when I hit high school. My brothers, Jacob and Jarod, were leading their own lives far away from our small town as ‘carnies’ for the travelling carnivals that went from town to town. I was next in line, and then my youngest brother, Ray, who was in junior high while I attended high school.

Although, I was initially shy when you first met me, I had an abundance of friends growing up. We moved to a few different neighbourhoods over the years, in the process, I met new kids with each grade school I attended. I got along with everyone, although I wasn’t one to follow the norm or judge others. There were cliques within our tiny town; what area you lived in and what elementary you attended served as your clique when you hit high school. I knew someone from each school and hung out with each clique throughout my school years, yet I didn’t fit into any of their moulds.

We had a close-knit extended family within our hometown area. My Dad’s family lived on the family farm just a hop, skip, and a jump from town. My maternal Grandma along with my mom’s only sibling, Aunty Bea, lived here too. Grandma was alive and well, but Grandpa passed away when I was eleven years old.

I have fond memories of my Grandpa; dancing on his feet to waltzes, listening to ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree’, and watching The Lawrence Welk show on a Saturday night. He would take us for a ride in his red 60s Ford truck to the corner store, driving 10 km down the street. He’d touch the gas making it hop and look at us like it was the most exciting thing in the world he just did. Grandpa always had Juicy Fruit gum in the breast pocket of his shirt. He’d pull out a stick for each of us to chew as we drove home. To this day, I love the smell and taste of that gum. He also carried a can of Copenhagen snuff in his other breast pocket, that smell wasn’t as pleasant, but memorable all the same.

Aunty Bea and my Mom were pregnant at the same time with my cousin, Lana and I. We were born a day apart and celebrated all our birthdays together until we hit our teens. We were inseparable as children; we developed crushes, music, and getting into trouble together. We had sleepovers at each other’s houses, our grandparents on the weekends, watched ‘The Dukes of Hazard’, and listened to the ‘Bay City Rollers’ growing up. Family functions such as weddings, funerals, Thanksgiving, and Christmas was celebrated as one big family.

Lana and I went our separate ways as teenagers. We hung out with different groups of friends in and out of school. Now, as times passes and we are getting older, we are regaining our companionship. Lana played an important role in my life. She defines a lot of who I am, she’s the twin I never had.

I always wanted to go back in time when I first started experiencing life and what it had to offer with all the emotions and stirrings of lust and love that come with youth, back to the magical time before we become adults with responsibilities and consequences for our actions. An era, I didn’t want to see past or thought would never end.

I had my first crush in 1985, at the ripe age of fifteen. I met Scott through my friend, Maggie, who lived down the block from me. Scott and his mom came from Manitoba to visit Maggie’s family often. He wore braces, was chunky, and walked pigeon-toed, yet I found him adorable. He played hockey and was referred to as a ‘jock’ like some of the guys I went to school with. I became boy crazy from that day forward.

Scott came down regularly during the summer. One weekend, we went with Maggie’s family to a houseboat on the lake. We water-skied, had bonfires, and explored the area. The adults slept onboard while we pitched a tent at nightfall. We cozied up in our sleeping bags under the stars as the moon hung low in the sky. Scott found his way beside me after everyone fell asleep. He touched me in places never explored and wasn’t gentle by all means. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but it opened Pandora’s Box.

Little to my knowledge Scott didn’t ‘pop my cherry’, another guy on our block took my virginity. I met Robert a few months after Scott had his way with me. He was nineteen, blond, and tanned, known as ‘eye candy’ by the girls in town. An Adonis, they all wanted a piece of.

One summer afternoon, I was walking home from the store when Robert whistled at me from his steps. Monday morning, the girls in my grade eight class were shocked as I explained the hickey I was trying to hide on my neck. They were envious when I told them what happened as I walked up his sidewalk to see what he wanted.

Do you wanna come inside for a piece of my birthday cake?

Happy Birthday to you. I gestured.

Thank you. Would you like some? He persisted.

Do you have company? I questioned shyly as I heard the stereo pounding rock n’ roll through the open doorway.

No, he replied, my friends left. I’m just sitting here by myself. I see you in the neighbourhood, I thought I’d get to know you. Is that okay?

You do?

Yeah, I think you’re pretty and like the way you move. He flattered me with his words. I’d find out years later, he was a typical red-blooded male saying exactly what an eager female wants to hear. So…how about it? It’s hot outside and cool inside. We can have cake and something cold to drink.

We walked inside to the sound of ‘Black Dog’ by Led Zeppelin blasting out of the speakers. He turned down the volume and wandered towards the cake on the counter. He was only wearing red adidas shorts as I watched every move he made with fond awareness. I felt the stir of emotion as I observed an extremely sexy man. I noticed he was nursing his right arm as he awkwardly performed the task of getting our treat with only his left arm.

What did you do to your arm?

I pulled a muscle in my shoulder at work. I have a sling, but it’s too hot to wear. He grabbed it off the table putting it on anyways.

Robert brought over the cake and a glass of iced tea to where I was sitting on his couch. He sat down next to me, his leg pressed against mine. I felt the warmth of his skin and smelled his salty scent. It made me so nervous, I could barely choke down the cake and hold a conversation with him. When I finished he got up to take my plate, but I offered to put it away on my own.

As I turned from the kitchen sink, Robert was standing right behind me. He leaned in towards me, grabbed my face, and pressed his hot lips against mine. His tongue sought out my tongue as he pressed his manhood up against me. I felt its growing hardness. He slowly pulled me down the hall to his bedroom. I was unsure, but I let him take the lead and show me the way.

Robert pulled off my shirt and unsnapped my bra, exposing my young breasts. I was shy and uncertain about my sexuality, but he made me feel desirable. He laid me on the bed, took off my shorts as he pulled off his, exposing his erection. Even with one wounded arm, he climbed onto the bed with agility. He took off his sling and moved above me, gracefully sliding inside me. He worked through the awkwardness of having only one arm to support his weight, making him press harder and deeper inside of me.

This is your first time, isn’t it? He breathed in with the throes of passion and through the pain I felt.

Yes and I don’t want to get pregnant. I whispered embarrassingly, neither one of us using protection.

And, I don’t want to be a daddy. He exclaimed pulling out of me and exploding on my belly.

I got up and dressed quickly as he pulled on his shorts and threw his arm back in the sling. He walked me to the door and kissed me goodbye. I left with no other words exchanged. Once I was out of view of his house, I ran all the way to Maggie’s. I pushed my way inside when she answered the door.

I have to talk to you. I exploded. We rushed to her bedroom, shut the door, and I told her what happened.

Are you alright? She asked.

I feel exhilarated and freaked out, all at the same time.

Do you want to go to the movies tonight? Maggie asked, carrying on as usual.

Yes. I agreed. I needed to take my mind off of Robert and my first ever, sexual intercourse.

I headed home to have supper, acting as normal as before. I asked my parents if I could go to the movies with Maggie. They were none the wiser their little girl just lost her virginity. I returned to Maggie’s ready for the movies. We went to see ‘Back to the Future’, but I could hardly concentrate on the movie since I was experiencing stomach cramps. I went to the bathroom to find I was bleeding. I felt like a woman as I realized my cherry was popped.

Chapter 2

Puppy Love

I felt like we were the only ones on the planet and in this universe in our little town, even though countless people and unusual incidents happened in our corner of the world. Murder, drug bust, missing persons, and suicides were common occurrences, as shocking as it sounds.

I met plenty of guys in school and in our neighborhood. The difference being, the men on our block were mature and experienced while the boys in school were still into being mean and immature to the girls they liked. I avoided guys my age after experiencing the difference between Scott and Robert.

I candy-stripped at the hospital on Sundays, took jazz dancing during the week, and odd babysitting jobs on the weekends. A couple I babysat for, divorced shortly after I began caring for their children. After his wife and kids moved out, the husband started hanging out with guys in the neighbourhood I became curious about. He introduced me to them.

Evan and Kurt moved onto our block the summer of 1986. Shortly thereafter, they introduced me to partying; guiding me through the process of drunkenness, throwing up, and hangovers. My innocence became a thing of the past.

My dad would give a look of displeasure whenever we drove by their place and they were outside fixing on cars and drinking beers. I believe he disapproved of them because Evan and Kurt were native. Dad thought they were bad influences. He may have very well been right, although it didn’t stop me from seeking them out.

Evan had shoulder-length jet black hair, a devilish smile, and sexy swagger when he walked. Kurt was short with pockmarked skin, big lips, but he had the gentlest disposition. I developed a huge crush on Evan, while Kurt crushed on me. Eventually, Evan and I had a few drunken nights of sex, but Kurt and I only remained friends.

One of those drunken nights, Kurt confessed his feelings for me. Evan was passed out beside us as Kurt proceeded to tell me about an accident Evan had been in. Evan was hitchhiking down the highway when he was hit by a passing vehicle. The impact of the speeding car ripped off his leg and threw him in the ditch. Kurt rolled up Evan’s pant leg to expose his wooden leg. I was dumbfounded, I had no clue. I’m sure Kurt showed me in the attempts to dissuade my attraction to Evan. However, it didn’t deter my feelings at all. It just made him more of an enigma to me and enhanced my intrigue for native men.

Shortly after, Evan came into money from the accident. They moved away from the neighbourhood, and with time, we grew apart. Years later, I ran into Kurt. He told me how Evan died in a tragic vehicle accident. It must have been his fate, I mourned him in my own way.

In their place, oilfield workers, otherwise known as ‘rig pigs’ moved into their house. The slang was a common term in my hometown, it wasn’t an insult just a way of living. Around the same time, another family moved across the street from our house. This is when I met my friend, Denise. I would eventually become her matron of honour.

Denise’s family had different cars and various people frequenting their home all hours of the day and night. They were the noisy household on the block, but they always sounded like they were having fun. Denise invited me over to their house one day. The simple act opened a can of worms and brought about another batch of boys into my life.

Keith was a mutual friend of Denise’s family. We hung out and kissed a few times, but nothing serious developed between us since we were always in the company of others. He introduced me to a near death experience, although not on purpose. As I look back upon the incident, I realize it could have ended in tragedy from our foolish teen antics.

One cool, fall day Denise’s brother, Larry, Keith, and I were hanging out in our neighbourhood. We were enjoying the day, laughing, and joking around as we passed through the park headed for home. Keith saw one of the swings broken and walked over to it. He started horsing around by putting his head through the rope and spinning himself around. Larry and I thought nothing of it as we watched him wind the rope tighter and tighter around his neck. We continued chatting away, oblivious of what was about to happen.

I wanted to get home so I told Keith to get his head out of the rope. He proceeded to show off by lifting his legs to twirl, but it backfired. The rope had tightened around his neck at this point and he started turning red. I thought he was pulling our leg. Larry and I watched as Keith struggled to gain his footing, desperately grabbing at the rope. The situation went from innocent to dreadful within minutes. His face went purple, he started to drool, and began convulsing. Larry and I realized what was happening right before our eyes - he was hanging himself.

I yelled at Larry to help him. He spun him as fast as he could with Keith continuing to convulse. Larry finally unwound him as Keith slumped motionless to the ground. I screamed at Keith, but there was no movement. In complete shock, and unsure if this was an act on Keith’s part, I hollered at Larry to do something. We were panicking. It was before 9-1-1 was introduced into society and before cell phones became prevalent in our lives. We were inexperienced with CPR techniques even though I candy-stripped at a hospital.

Larry leaned over Keith and slapped him in the face several times. Keith gasped, slowly coming around as we stood over him horrified. He came out of it dazed for a few moments, then jumped to his feet, shook his head, and laughed it off. Larry and I stared at each other in astonishment of the situation we just witnessed. Keith reassured us he was all right, disregarding the obvious rope burn around his throat. The scars were on his neck for a long time to come, a daily reminder that something simple could have turned out devastating for all of us.

Denise and I hung out often. She would periodically introduce me to the people that came and went from her family’s home. A couple of these people were the oilfield workers, who moved into Evan and Kurt’s house.

One day after school, Denise invited me over. I was introduced to Kent Lewis. Kent and his older brother, Luke, moved to our hometown to work the oil patch. They came from British Columbia and seemed like exotic foreigners to us in our hick town. I was sixteen when I met Kent, he was twenty and cute as a button. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes with a moustache that made him look macho and a tush that looked fantastic in a pair of Levi jeans.

I was interested to find out what it was like growing up in Kamloops, BC. We talked for a considerable time, forgetting about everyone around us. It grew late when I realized I had to get home, I had school the next day. Kent left Denise’s at the same time I did, we said our good-byes, and started down the block to our respective homes.

Can I get your phone number? Kent requested as I walked towards my home. I gave him our phone number and rushed into the house.

I found it hard to sleep that night. I lay there awake thinking about this new guy I just met. I found myself daydreaming about him in class and doodling his name in my binder, giddy with excitement wondering when I’d see him next. The entire week, I watched as their work truck drove by our home at the end of the day, anticipating his call each time.

I sat in my bedroom listening to music one evening, when mom called from the kitchen. The phone was for me, I could hardly contain the butterflies in my stomach. I was hoping it was Kent on the phone and not just Maggie or Denise. I picked up the receiver to hear his masculine voice. My heart skipped a thousand beats per minute.

Hi Mallory, its Kent. What are you up to?

I’m just listening to tunes in my bedroom. And you? I replied trying to contain my enthusiasm.

I just got off work, I’m beat. I called to see what you’re doing tomorrow night and if you’d like to hang out?

Yes. I said immediately.

Cool, come over to my house around 7:00 pm. We can figure out what we want to do then. We ended our conversation since he still had to shower and eat supper.

I was beyond ecstatic, my first actual date with a man. I didn’t tell Mom and Dad I was going on a date, I didn’t want the ‘fifth degree’. Instead, I acted like I was heading over to Maggie’s. The next evening at seven sharp, I walked down the street to his house. I walked with casualty, yet with purpose up to his door and knocked. He answered in a brown robe with a dirty face and messy hair. I stood in the doorway feeling like I arrived too early.

Come in, make yourself comfortable. He insisted as he ushered me in.

Luke came down the hall as I waited for Kent to clean up. I tried acting sophisticated knowing I was in the company of older men. I was young and inexperienced, but I didn’t want to appear so. Luke was heading out to the bar for the evening. I wasn’t even close to legal drinking age yet.

Kent came out of the bathroom looking dapper with his hair slicked back. He had well-defined muscles from doing the physical labour on an oil rig. I enjoyed seeing him fresh out of the shower, exuding masculinity in a Vancouver Canucks t-shirt and blue jeans.

We started a conversation with ease as he sat down across from me. Although we only met once before, it felt like we had known each other all our lives. Kent was attentive and cordial. He was four years older then me, but he didn’t seem to mind our age difference. I relaxed in his presence and felt comfortable to be myself.

He kissed me only once that evening. I longed to be intimate with him, however he was a gentleman and didn’t make any more advances. Kent felt different from my previous encounters, those were fleeting. I wanted to savour these moments with him and make them last.

We hung out a few more times before he took me on a real date. We went for dinner to one of the fancier restaurants in town where we dined on steak and lobster. We went back to his place afterwards, he put on soft music to set the mood. We sat there gazing at each other longingly listening to Phil Collins, until instinctively we fell into one another’s arms.

I believed the other guys before Kent were just preparation for this exact moment. I truly didn’t understand the concept of making love until I experienced it with Kent. It was the ultimate high. He made me experience it in a way I couldn’t have imagined. He didn’t rush things, he explored every inch of my body, and awakened parts of me I never knew existed.

Afterwards, he held me in his arms making me feel secure. We talked and laughed with each other. I was ready to experience all these new feelings with him. I was overflowing with emotion for this man. I wanted to shout out to the world and tell everyone what I was feeling inside. I also worried it would be the last time I saw him after he took what he wanted from me. Although, deep down I sensed this experience was different from the others before him.

We continued to see each other, making love endlessly. I referred to him as my boyfriend to my friends and family. All the girls at school had boyfriends our own age, I had this mature man I called my lover.

My parents wanted to meet Kent since I was spending so much time with him. They liked him instantly and approved of him just not the late nights or the overnight stays. We had to come to an agreement if we wanted to remain seeing each other. I had to be home by curfew and no more sleepovers on school nights. We agreed but in the end, we didn’t follow their rules.

Christmas 1986 arrived, Kent was heading back to BC to spend the holidays with his family. I was young and insecure, concerned he might not come back or even worse, find another girl during our time apart. He must have anticipated my insecurities because before he left, he wanted us to open our Christmas gifts to each other.

First, he unwrapped his gift. He acted pleased with the black and grey knitted sweater I gave him to keep warm while he was skiing in the mountains. He thanked me and smiled sweetly as he handed me several gifts to open. I was thrilled as I opened each one, but the last gift he handed me filled my heart with joy. It was a ring in the shape of a knot, my first ring from a man.

This ring’s called a promise ring. I want us to be promised to each other from this day forward, he expressed, I love you, Mallory. I hope to marry you one day and spend the rest of my life with you. Do you want that too?

I was overwhelmed with happiness. I waited to hear those words from him for some time. I felt ready to say it long before this moment, but I feared the unknown. Kent was the first man I’d say those words to, he was my first true love.

I love you too, Kent! I blurted as he slid the ring onto my finger. We made love before we parted for two weeks during the Christmas holidays. It was set in stone, a knot-shaped stone to be exact, a promise of a future together. I was the happiest I’d ever been in my life.

I could hardly contain my excitement for these new feelings, but I had to keep it a secret knowing full well my parents would disapprove of me being promised to a man. I was only sixteen years old after all. I was thankful for the holidays and family festivities. It kept my mind from dwelling on him obsessively.

Kent returned from his holidays to tell me Luke was moving back to BC. Kent planned on moving to an apartment uptown with his friend. He unexpectedly asked me to move in with him. I was eager to, the only issue would be my parents approving of it.

They’ll never let me move in with you, Kent. They’ll say I’m too young.

We’ll sit down and discuss it with them. If they don’t agree, we’ll deal with it at that time. It’ll be fine, no matter what. Kent reassured me.

I invited Kent to our house for supper one night. We brought up the subject as we were sitting down to eat. My dad had a look of stress on his face and my mom looked like she was ready to cry. I felt selfish, but it was my happiness on the line. We used the defence of no more late nights. I hadn’t conceded to their rules of dating Kent, breaking them continuously. I could see on their faces they weren’t pleased, but realized I’d do what I wanted in the long run. They agreed dishearteningly with stipulations.