High school. One of my best friends, Chris, had been dating his girlfriend Rachel for over two years, which is a lifetime when compared to the usual impermanence of most high school relationships. But they were having some problems. In spite of this, however, the three of us spent a lot of time together. We would see each other in the mornings before homeroom, at lunch, and on weekends. Occasionally, Rachel would call me at home and we would chat. I wasn’t sure why they so often involved me in there plans, but my adolescent mind figured it was because Rachel in some way felt bad for me, as I was perennially single and particularly lovelorn.

I was wrong.

One Friday night, the three of us rented a movie and were watching it at Rachel’s aunt’s house, her aunt not being home at the time. Rachel was sitting between Chris and I on a large, wraparound couch. At some point during the movie, Rachel and Chris started cuddling. Then they started making out. So, pretty weird for me, right? Apparently not weird enough.

While Rachel and Chris were kissing, their eyes closed, Rachel deftly reached over and took hold of my hand and held it. When I realized what was happening, I jerked my hand free of hers. But she immediately groped for my hand and tried to hold it again. I pulled away once more, but this time I slid down the couch, putting enough distance between her and I that she could no longer reach me. Then they stopped kissing. I continued to watch the movie, my feeble mind wheeling, trying to understand what had just happened.

The next day Rachel called me at home. She was sorry, she said, for holding my hand. Part of me still considered the notion that she felt bad for me, and in some strange way didn’t want to exclude me from the whole kissing incident. But this thought was short lived, however, as she soon told me, after a prolonged silence, that she had feelings for me. But I couldn’t tell Chris. Please, I couldn’t tell Chris. Rachel then assured me that she would no longer call me and probably wouldn’t see me anymore outside of school. I was stunned, but also relieved. A month or two later, she told me, simply, “Mike, I don’t like you that way anymore.” And the matter was settled.

I kept my promise for years and never told Chris about the incident. But I felt bad about it. Then one afternoon, while talking to Chris on the phone–he and Rachel had long since broken up–I told him what had happened that one Friday night. His response: “Man, that must have been awkward for you.”

Yes, yes it was.