Parents, small children, suspicious pets...they all love me. I have no idea why.
When I was 19, my first serious boyfriend and I would take every opportunity we could find to have sex. EVERY opportunity. So it should come as no surprise to you all to know that one day we were nearly caught by his parents when they came home from church early and we were uh...indisposed in his basement bedroom.
But only nearly caught.
We heard them come in and, as we scrambled to put clothes back on, wiping the sweat off our faces with shirt sleeves and sheets, we heard the following conversation float down the stairs from the kitchen:
Dad: I'm really not comfortable with him having girls over when we're not home.
Mom: Oh stop worrying. It's just Jane.
Just Jane.
That was the beginning.
The beginning of having a sense that people trust me - perceive me as non-threatening, trustworthy...good?
In that particular case, perhaps they were wrong. It wasn't too long afterward he and I would disappear in the middle of the night on a mid-winter adventure to California - Humboldt County. In my defense, I would have never suggested it. All in all, he was the one corrupting me. But still...I was the older of the two and thereby culpable for our actions.
But no. Even after we returned, his parents didn't seem to hold me responsible for any of it. They seemed to know the "adventure" was driven by him - he'd done it before - and the trust they had in me continued to remain steadfastly unbroken.
So the moniker, Just Jane, stuck.
For a time, I was offended by it. Felt...hmmm...that somehow it spoke to my lack of self-worth.
Now, I take pride in it, knowing it's part of my reputation - a reputation of good intent, trustworthiness, gentleness. And I try to live up to it. I think I'm doing pretty well so far.
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