Life is a Beach

Time passed. I got back together with Scott for about 2 weeks, then broke up again. I casually dated a few guys but one day, Keith called me wanting to get together. Who knows what possessed me? Maybe it was for revenge on Scott. Maybe it was desperation for someone familiar. Either way, I invited him up. I think we went out to eat or something. I don’t really remember. SO memorable, huh?

Eventually, he asked to take me to the beach in Delaware for the Memorial Day weekend. That was one of the most romantic things I’d heard, so I said ok. I was thinking hotel room, lounging on the beach, eating in restaurants, etc. What I got was a 3 hour long motorcycle ride, no supper, and a sleeping bag on the beach, which we got kicked off of and sent to the bug infested campground beach. I remember having no breakfast, not even a drink, buying a bottle of baby oil for the beach (STOOOOPID!), going back to the public beach for a nap. We walked along the water for awhile. I was saying how hungry I was, so Keith suggested we go to McD’s. I waited on the beach with our stuff while he went up the road to get the motorcycle. Next thing I know, I’m laying in the sand, with lots of people looking at me. I had passed out. Somebody gave me a glass of lemonade. Keith took me to a small wooded area to let me cool off. I remember laying in the sleeping bag shivering and puking my guts out. My head felt like it was going to explode. I finally begged him to take me to the ER.

They gave me some fluids and some lotion so I could put my jeans back on, then let me rest and cool off. We went back to the wooded area but I was just too sick to sleep outside again. I believe it took 5 hours to make the 2-1/2 hour trip back home since I had to keep having him pull over so I could puke.

Even though it was a 3 day weekend and I had Sunday and Monday to try and recover, I still had to call off work Tuesday and Wednesday. The skin on my legs was SO tight from the sunburn that I couldn't even walk upright. When I finally peeled, there were pools of sweat (or blister fluid?) released from underneath.

And somehow, this fiasco of a date weekend endeared Keith to me. Instead of blaming him for having me sleep outside in the first place, I saw him as a hero that cared for me and rescued me when I was totally helpless.

The whole relationship with Scott was strange, wild, strained, and exciting. It just couldn't last. Too volatile. Towards the end of the relationship, Keith came back into the scene. He was sleeping on the floor of our tiny studio apartment. Scott was working night shift at a diner. I hadn't had any reason to be afraid to be alone at night with Keith, naive as I still was. Then the drinking started.

I found this pattern to be SO true throughout the whole time I knew Keith. Instant asshole, just add alcohol. One night, while Scott was working, Keith came to the apartment drunk out of his mind. He said he'd been partying with "Pappy" and they'd had words, but Pappy just misunderstood what Keith meant, so it came to blows and a knife was involved. Keith's hand was cut, but not bad. He kept rambling on to me about what had happened and that it was all a misunderstanding and not his fault. Somewhere in the middle of that, he started saying stuff about the knife and that he was gonna show me how Pappy had tried to cut him. Next thing I see is this switchblade coming at me. Somehow, I got Keith calmed down and away from me so that I could get out of the apartment. I ran the 8 or 10 blocks to the diner and told Scott what was going on. He called Keith to talk about it, who claimed I misunderstood what he was saying, and that he didn't really want to cut me. Scott had me wait at the diner for about an hour so Keith had time to pass out, then sent me home again.

Once I got home, I tried to go to bed, but about 2 hours after I got there, Keith tried climbing in bed with me. I tried playing like I was asleep but he kept rubbing my back and talking dirty to me. When I could see the possum thing wasn't working, I told him to get out of my bed and leave me alone. He tried again, but I started kicking at him, so he left mumbling something about "I'll leave ya alone. You'll be ALL alone ya miserable little cunt"

He moved back to Maryland with his parents shortly after this to go to truck driving school. I stayed with Scott a few more months, then moved out on my own into an even smaller apartment nearby.