Bundy my first love/1982-1983

We never kissed in the mouth. It wasn’t a high school romance, but it was the very first time I fell in love. I was a naïve 17 years old. I still played with paper dolls with my younger sister. I never wore make up. In a lot of ways, I was still a “kid” but there was a part of me that wanted to be a woman.

Mr. Pizarro the dean thought I would enjoy a class called “Forensics” which I had never heard of. I always thought Forensics was something detectives did. I learned that it was also a class for speech making. So, Pizarro, as I used to call him sent me to Room 200 which was in the attic of the second story, that’s what we called it. I had never been in that room before after 3 years of being in high school.

I took my class slip to Mr. Bundy to check into his class. The first time I saw him I didn’t think much of him, isn’t that the way of it? Love at first sight what was that anyway? Something Hollywood made up, something for yuppies, but not for regular folk.

Mr. Bundy sat behind his desk, a blonde young man of 32 with a receding hairline, and peach fuzz on his face. His eyes were blue, yet that wasn’t the first thing I noticed about him. It was the pale blue windbreaker he wore. There were other kids sitting in the class, they all called him “Bundy” so naturally I did too. I never called him Greg, though that was his name.

He thought I should try oratory. My first speech was about a gay teacher who was fired. It was really a very controversial subject back then. Almost immediately, he told me I had talent. I had never spoken publicly in front of anyone before. I wrote the entire speech and memorized it word for word, every word in the speech the ands and buts, every single line. Bundy told me not to memorize the speech but to remember basic ideas in the speech. We butted heads on how I should memorize my speech.

“This is the only way I can remember it.” I said.

We clashed, and this was just the beginning of the tumultuous journey we began together. He was the coach, but it was more. From the beginning we practiced a lot. He’d invite me up to the room when no one was there, and I’d stay after to practice the speech. I told him I had to do it my way, or not at all.

“If you want to lose,” He’d say, “then do it your way.”

“I’m not going to lose.”

I don’t know if I saw myself as a little girl anymore, I was 17 years old. Bundy was divorced. He told me his wife left him one day and stole all the furniture. I sensed he was as lonely as I was. My momma and daddy were going through a divorce my daddy didn’t see us very much.

When I won 2nd place in Oratory, I had an “I told you so” moment.

“I won, like I said I would.” Bundy seemed surprised, but very impressed with me.

Whenever we practiced after that, he’d watch me with a sort of excitement in his eyes. When I’d sit to take a break from my monologue his hand would momentarily brush over my smaller hand.

Once, he said, he needed me to massage his hand as it was tired from holding chalk all day.

The second speech I worked on was an expository speech about the Academy Awards. I had a poster of Charlie Chaplin that I used as a prop.

“How are you going to win with that?” He’d ask.

“I won last time, didn’t I?” “You doubted me, but I won.”

Bundy would smile, “That’s true.”

It was an intense thing, getting ready for a tournament. We’d practice a lot after school in Room 200. The other kids didn’t come by much, but I came every day, except the day I had therapy with Larry the therapist I had been seeing for a year. I think he liked my commitment. But I had never won a trophy before and I wanted another one. At least that is what I told myself.

As the weeks passed, Bundy would let me come up to his room, even when it wasn’t class. I’d crash his English classes. Instead of tell me to go back to class Bundy let me stay.

I told him immediately I had no transportation to the tournaments in town. “That’s okay,

I’ll take you”, He’d say, “Or I’ll arrange for someone to take you.”

I wanted to make him proud.

On the day of the tournament, Bundy would see me in between rounds to encourage me. During the last round he confided to me that my scores were really good, and I just had to keep it up. I had been getting scores of 1’s all day. When the tournament was over we all sat as a team in the auditorium, he was the one giving out the trophies that afternoon. I was surprised to see him mixing up the trophies. He seemed excitable. Then I knew why. When he called the five finalists up for Expository, I was the last one standing. Bundy handed me the trophy and kissed me on the ear. I knew there was something strange happening between us.

As the school year continued, I was in Bundy’s class a lot. I’d stay after school with him. He’d drive me home. The first time he asked me to give him a hug, I was surprised, I wanted to.

He held me for a little while then released me. He began to call me on Friday nights about forensics. Bundy said he called all the teammates. I was happy that he called me, as I didn’t have a boyfriend. We’d stay on the phone at least an hour, until momma told me to get off the phone.

I’d ditch class to go hang out in his English class. The class was watching a film, we sat in the back, and then he held my hand through the entire movie. Even though Bundy’s hand was sweaty I didn’t let go. He didn’t let go either. After school, we’d listen to the radio. Bundy told me that he wanted to marry me. I knew he was kidding, but I didn’t want it to be a joke. He said he wanted to go to the Senior Prom with me.

“I have a blue suit that I look good in.” It wasn’t just the words Bundy’s smile was melting all of the walls I had built up over the years.

“Really you want to go with me?” I didn’t know if he was really serious or not. But I was vulnerable, and I imagined going to the Prom with him in my head. No one else asked me to go.

“You don’t want to go with me?” He touched my arm. He always disarmed me. I was putty in Bundy’s hands.

I didn’t know if he was joking or not, what he didn’t understand is that I really did want to go with him. I did want to be married to him. Bundy began to dance with me, and I didn’t want him to stop dancing with me. We only danced for a little while, but his hands on my waist, created a deeper desire inside me.

This began to bleed into my own English class. Mrs. Salwasser hated me. She saw us once arm in arm walking up the stairs to room 200.

“What a lovely couple you two make.” She remarked. I could tell she was angry.

Bundy said, “Who cares.”

We had this banter back and forth, this bickering over my speeches. “I want to punch you in the mouth.”

“You know you want to kiss me in the mouth.” He’d say. It was true I wanted to but I had never kissed anyone before.

Bundy continued to take me home after tournaments we had in town, he’d always leave the others on the team first, and save me for last. I would hug him on the drive way of my house. I loved Bundy, he must have known. All of the hugging and the telephone calls confused me, and made me believe that he wanted to be with me as a man wants to be with a woman.

When we went to Cal Poly, I stayed in a room with Gwen, Bundy came in around midnight when we were still practicing our speeches, he was barefoot, and got into the bed, and covered himself up.

“Let me hear your speech.”

So I got up there, and began to give my speech.

Gwen later told me that I had a see-through night gown, only I didn’t know it. She told me Bundy was a pig for coming into our room so late. But I wanted to see Bundy too.

The next morning, he took me to breakfast, and held my hand.

“You’re going to take 1st, you’re that good.”

“I don’t know.” “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“You’re ready.” He winked.

I smiled and melted. I did love him, like a silly teenager. Bundy was the first man who paid any kind of attention to me, the first man who held me.

I came in 3rd in Cal-Poly. When we went to put gas to get back to Fresno Bundy took me to the gas station. “Oh Donna” by Richie Valens came on the radio, and he began to sing to me, “Oh Matty,” “Oh Matty.” I blushed, and laughed. Bundy told me I was the prettiest girl on the team. “You’re not like the other girls, nasty.” “I like that you don’t cuss.” Like a stupid girl I didn’t realize that he was playing with me. Bundy wanted me to win.

When I began to lose, he began to withdraw from me.

I won one last time a 5th place trophy in Dramatic Interpretation. Bundy hated my speech. I told him I didn’t care.

“I’m not going upstairs after school, you can forget it.”

“You know you’re coming.” He said as if to tease me.

“For what?” I answered quite annoyed.

“Because you want to be with me,” He remarked as he gently kicked my tennis shoe.

I missed my therapy sessions so I could be with Bundy. I rolled my eyes then smiled because it was true. Then I followed him up the stairs to the attic. This was our secret place away from the rest of the team, away from the rest of the world. He sat behind his desk, and put his feet up. I sat on the stool beside him. We didn’t always practice. A lot of times we would just sit and talk.

“Did you mean it when you said you wanted to marry me?” I was so naïve to know that this wasn’t a genuine proposal.

“You wouldn’t want to marry me, you’re so young.”

“But I would.” I wanted to be Bundy’s wife.

“No you wouldn’t.” “You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“So you don’t want me.” I said with a sad little voice.

“Mrs. Salwasser suspects there is something going on between us.”

“Don’t ditch her class anymore.”

“So you don’t want me to come up anymore.”

“No. You can’t always be with me.” He said frowning.

They always say that. But usually it is after you’ve had sex with him.

“Then I’ll go home.” I clumsily grabbed my back pack and rushed to the door.

“I’ll take you home.” He said following me to the door.

“Don’t bother.” I could feel him already distancing himself from me. It was too late I already wanted to be with him all the time.

I ditched the next couple of days and hung out with Mr. Pizarro.

“What are you doing here?” “Don’t you have Forensics?” Pizarro asked.

“I’m not going anymore.” I pouted.

“Why not?” Pizarro asked as if he already knew the answer.

“Because Bundy’s a jerk.” I sounded like a child.

“You always come in here to complain about him, if you think he’s a jerk, then drop his class.” Pizarro would say.

“Maybe I will.” I said defiantly.

“That’s what he says about you, when I tell him to drop you.” Pizarro responded.

At home, I would think about Bundy all of the time. Whenever I would take a shower I would imagine what it would be like to kiss him. This began to sour in my heart. I never hurt so much. I knew I was hurting like a woman, the way a woman hurt for the man she wanted. It wasn’t even a class anymore. It wasn’t even about the speeches anymore. I was losing and Bundy hated me for it. When I was winning he liked to be with me. It was conditional, I discovered everything was conditional, was based on performance. But he held me in his arms and expected a teenager to forget that. Bundy was the only man who had ever held me. Momma began to suspect there was something going on between us.

“No momma, I’m just losing.” “You saw me lose my last tournament, I stink at it.”

“I thought you were good Matita.” That’s what my momma called me.

“You have to say that.” My momma was going through a divorce with daddy who had reverted to his adolescence. He was dating a much younger woman in her 20’s and had just bought a sports car.

But I remembered rubbing my face in his windbreaker, touching the fuzz on his face. I looked at the trophies I had won that were still new. I cursed the day I enrolled in Forensics. My heart was being crushed every day. The feeling was what I imagined dying to be.

To get his attention, I finally cut my hand with a piece of glass I found in the school yard. Bundy saw my hand wrapped in a paper towel of blood.

“What did you do?” I could see the worry on Bundy’s face. I was glad that I could illicit something from his heart. He was relieved when he saw the cut wasn’t that bad.

“Don’t do that again.” He scolded.

“You don’t tell me what to do?” “Who are you?” I screamed at him as a woman, not as a child.

“I’m your”, Then he took the Lord’s name in vain. “Coach.”

“You’re not my coach. You’ve always stunk as a coach.” I said to hurt Bundy.

“Really?” Bundy said. “I gave you more attention that anyone else on the team.”

The truth had come out, the words sliced callously at my blossoming womanhood that was still so fragile.

“I won because of me, not because of you.” I was on the verge of tears.

“Then why don’t you get the hell out of my class, then.” Then Bundy ran his hand over his balding forehead.

If I had used bad language I certainly would have. Instead I told Bundy, “I hate you.”

I thought about God, about my Jesus. I prayed that this would end even though we didn’t really go to Mass anymore. Bundy had blown a hole in my heart. But God let me hurt, He let this chew up my heart. I had to get away from Bundy. So I saw a recruiter to join the Army when I graduated. I also quit Forensics. It was the most painful thing I had done. The cut on my hand was nothing compared to this. When my two little sisters were asleep I used to cry silently into my pillow. I knew I wasn’t going to stay with Bundy, but I needed to stay with him. He didn’t hug me anymore, he hated me now.

In the mornings I would look at Bundy through the second story window of my Spanish class passing by. He looked the same in his pale blue windbreaker scurrying by, but everything had changed. I looked at Bundy with my face pressed against the window until he disappeared.

__________________________________________________________

The Lord said, “I will never leave you, nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)