Recalling Pineapples

We had only been dating for about three months, and a concert had been announced for December.  Winter in the Midwest means the weather is unpredictable.  Making plans that require long drives – or driving at all really – need to be taken seriously.  So, I asked you weeks in advance if it would be worth the price of concert tickets if it meant driving over an hour away in December.  You said it would be.  That any price, any drive, any location was worth me being able to see my favorite band.  I asked if maybe you could drive since I’d be swallowing the price of the tickets.  I asked if maybe we could get a hotel room; we’d go to the concert on Friday night, sleep over, and spend the next day exploring a city neither of us had spent much time in.  You agreed wholeheartedly that it sounded like a great time.   I looked forward to that concert for weeks. I counted down the days, I was excited for a little getaway with you where we could unplu...

Please do not ask me why I decided to write out my #MeToo story three years after the movement’s resurgence. (Apparently it started in 2006, who knew?  But to be fair I was in 8th grade in 2006).  I’ve been wanting to write, and this story has been drifting in and out of my brain for over a month so I think maybe it’s time to write it down, in all its details, so maybe I can stop reliving what happened in my brain.  Or maybe I just like to hear myself talk and since I am an inner monologue person it means I hear myself telling this story, but this is more concrete.  Savable.  Although I don’t know if many people would consider this type of story or memory something they wanted to save.  But I’ve remembered it, and held onto it, and tried to bury it for 8 years and I haven’t managed to yet so…here goes. It was 2012, I was 19, recently moved out of my childhood home, in a tumultuous eighteen-month relationship that involved a child (not mine but nonetheless...