To Tell Stories: The Vomiting Meatball Guy

Once upon a time, I was in high school. And when I was in high school, I put together an anthology of short stories about the silly situations I got myself into with the boys I was chasing or who were chasing me. I will share one of them, for three reasons:

1. It's about food! So, it's on topic.
2. It's utterly ridiculous.
3. My friend (who also makes an appearance in the book as "unequivocally the worst thing to ever happen to me") recently reminded me of it.    

This excerpt from "Boys: It's a Four Letter Word, Too // An Anthology of Mishaps" has been edited for clarity. Though, generally, it's me as an 18 year old making observations about love in this world. 

Small background: James (name changed to protect the vomiting meatball guy) was a bit Dawsonian (hence the covername: "James" Van Der Beek). He was the heady valedictorian. And in the football town north of Boston that had stereotypical popular girls and nerdy boys, James was the "he will be super successful because he's so nerdy and smart but is not killing it right now" kinda guy. He was a medium build, not quite tall, Jewish kid with long eye lashes. A sensibility ahead of his time, aware of Wes Anderson & PT Anderson, and showing me great films in the midst of all our turmoil. Also, around this time, I starred in a movie James wrote and directed about online dating. There was a 3 minute long interlude. It was a black & white scene of me dancing to "Honey Pie" by The Beatles with a lot of facial close ups and long holds on my fluttering eye lashes. As for high school Whitney? I was dense, an unwitting tease; totally naive to the hormones of the boys I flirted with and consistently shocked that they would want to actually kiss me.

Meatballs 

    James was on a quest to ingratiate me into his world of film loving. One night, as friends, we went to the movies. On the ride there, he was telling me that earlier that day he felt ill. He had eaten meatballs and then immediately thrown up. He thought he was feeling better but he wasn't sure. After the movie (which happened to suck) he said his stomach was bothering him and attributed it to his earlier consumption of meatballs. As we were leaving the parking lot and beginning our critique of the movie (James at this juncture was also quite certain he would go to Hollywood and become a famous director) he announced, “Pull the car over, I’m gunna puke.” I did, and right outside my car door, he vomited. When he got back in the car I genuinely felt bad. He appeared to be really sick. We stopped and got him some water at a nearby 7-11. He was warm and flushed and seemingly very ill. He started to feel better so we continued our journey home. 

Turkey Meatballs from The Kitchn. So delicious.

     All of a sudden he pops back into the realm of health and says, “I want to kiss you!” Up until this point, I had no idea James was into me. I thought we were movie watching friends. I said nonchalantly, “Well don’t.” First of all I only liked him as a friend, and second of all, who says that?! He seemed very pleased that he said it, but I was just outright disgusted. I sat quietly while he was practically bouncing in his seat. Fluttering about; I remember thinking he was acting like a squirrel. Like he had found the courage to finally tell me that he wanted to kiss me and found that moment, while I was driving, to be an opportune time. Shortly after, I dropped him off.

     A couple weeks later, we went out again (We were on our way to an acting class that resulted in one of the worst movies ever created. Community film making at its most pathetic.) He got in the car and again stated that he wasn’t feeling well. On our way to class he said, “Pull over, I’m gunna puke!”  I swerved onto the side of the road. It was a residential area and James just puked on someone's front lawn. When he got back in the car he referenced having meatballs again. I suggested he go home so that he didn’t become sicker, but he refused. I asked if he had the same reaction to steak or hamburgers; oddly, he did not. I suggested he see a doctor because he may have an uncanny intolerance to meat in ball forms. Perplexing.

Scallion meatballs from Smitten Kitchen. Served at my Chinese New Year party last year.

     About a month after that, we went to see yet another movie. This one was in Boston, about a 30 minute drive from our small hometown. This movie also happened to suck (he was attempting to broaden my horizons and show off his sophistication). He made me sit through the credits knowing full well that I had a full bladder. I was annoyed by his unawareness of another human's needs. We went back to my car. As soon as we got into my car, he says he’s sick again! I was getting a little pissed, thinking "is he really going to pull this every time we go out?" Out loud I said, “are you going to be sick every time we go out?” I was feeling tempestuous: slightly afflicted by empathy for his illness but actually, mostly, angry at him for being rude, being sick, and being annoying. He didn’t answer, the beginning of a streak of silence for the rest of the evening punctuated by odd bursts of energy. So I told him to get out of the car and make himself feel better. (That is exactly what happened. I have no idea what I meant by that, but he did as I told him.) He got out. 

     I think I imagined him taking a few deep breaths or maybe getting a bottle of water. Instead, he proceeded to leave me alone in the parking garage for far too long, and my nerves were getting the better of me. I began to get claustrophobic feeling and really angry that he had left me alone in a dark hot garage. I no longer felt bad for him, at all, but would rather have liked to punch him in the face. Needless to say, when he got back I was haughty. In a totally unconcerned voice I said, “Are you okay?” He mumbled something that I don’t even think was English, but honestly I didn’t care enough to ask him to repeat himself. We embarked on our journey back home. Thrown off by the whole afternoon, I took a wrong turn. When I realized that I was no longer heading home but back into Boston, I said, “shit, I took a wrong turn!” He said, “oh yea I knew that.” I thought, "what the hell, why wouldn’t you tell me that you stupid f..k?" [I am pleased that sentence is verbatim from my 18 year old self.] But instead I said to him, “what the hell, why wouldn’t you tell me that?” See, I restrained myself. 

Korean Style Meatballs from Spoon Fork Bacon. M. made these delights once.

     I managed to find my way back home despite an unpleasant car ride marked by his pretentious, faux-auteur musings and my annoyed answers. As we neared home I asked if he minded grabbing dinner. I took him to my favorite sandwich shop. [ED. Note: WHY did I continue the evening with him? So strange.] We sat across from each other after ordering at the counter and I largely ignored his presence, looking anywhere but at him. Utterly refusing to make eye contact. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he was just sitting across from me STARING; like not even eating, just leering at my face. I finally conceded to his creepiness and sarcastically asked, “is there any reason you are staring at me?” Instead of answering in a speaking voice, he erupted in a fit of anger, screaming obscenities at me at the top of his lungs. Keep in mind, the restaurant we were at was SMALLand was so full at this point that there was standing room only. At the table next to us was a lovely family with two young children. Yet, he continued to scream. I can’t recall any of what he said because all I could hear was "F..K blah blah blah!!! F..K yada yada yada!!! F..KING bish blosh blash!!!" Some of the words I heard were "divorce" and "gay" (which rang true to things in his life that I knew he & his family were going through). I knew nothing else. 

    I looked at him and told him he needed to calm down and that we needed to leave now. When we got outside I lost any remaining patience I had been pretending to have. “WHAT THE F..K WAS THAT?” I screamed. I told him he needed to get a grip. And that no one should scream in public!!! And that people go through things in their life, but that doesn't mean you get to take it out on your friends. I am not your emotional punching bag! I said. Eventually, we got back to my car and each of us had settled down a bit. He was able to tell me that he was not at a good place in his life and just as I was starting to feel terrible for the poor guy he got riled up again and let me have it: "AND! The reason I always throw up around you?! It is not because of meatballs! But because I am so nervous to be around you! I want to be with you so badly, and I want to kiss you so badly! But I don’t know how to go about it. So I throw up!"

      I was so angry and feeling so deceived by my friend that I couldn’t find one nice thing to say. I felt blindsided. I know he told me he wanted to kiss me those weeks back, but I figured he was over it. We had been friends. And I didn't want to deal with this obsession. That's how it felt, like a weird obsessive attraction. So I told him, “you are really messed up and you have to start acting like a human being. You have to realize that it’s just a god damn kiss, get the f..k over it.” I started the car and drove him home. 

Epilogue

     That was my junior year in high school. I didn't really speak to James in any real  way until I hosted a party at my parents' house for a few of us returning from college after our freshman year. James made his way over because we shared mutual friends. He told me that he lost his virginity, during his freshman year at an esteemed liberal arts Ivy League, to a "large black woman." He giggled the whole while he told me. I yelped in intolerance and impatience: "STOP living your life so you can write a movie about it! Quit having weird experiences to be funny. Just LIVE your LIFE." I might have told him to leave.

     The next day he ran into my friend and said, "Whitney only said those things because she is afraid that I will become famous and write a movie about her." I'm still waiting.