My Super Awesome Amish Boyfriend

Most people have never been to an Amish party. I have. Just so you're not completely in the dark, let me set the scene for you: it's just past dusk and no matter what way you turn your head, all you see is row after row of sweet corn on swaying stalks. By now you've forgotten the strong scent of manure that stung your nostrils the first time it hit your nose. There's a muffled beat somewhere close, probably the tattered barn about 20 feet away. A horse and buggy clops down the road, surely aware of what's going on but none-the-less passes by quietly.

Now before I get started, let me fill you in. I met John Miller for the first time the same night I attended the Amish party. We were both at a boring high school basketball game with another friend. At the time I thought he was the stuff dreams were made of. Tall, dark, handsome, preppy, he even had a car. To be honest with you, leaving with him was probably the stupidest thing I'd ever done in my life. I was 15 and he was 17, an experienced man in my eyes and predictably handsome for an Amish gent. My best friend was with me and after John coaxed us into it, we decided that leaving with them was a risk worth taking. She had her Amish boy and I had mine and we were off to country land, giddy, young, and way too naïve for our own good.

On our way to the party a cop car pulled us over and prodded us about a party going on that night. They asked if we knew anything about it. Of course we didn't and oh, if we knew we'd sure tell them where it was!

This was my first, and only, interaction with a cop suspicious of my intentions. Oh the scandalous life I lead!

We only stayed at the party for about 10 minutes because to be honest with you it was nothing special. It was just a bunch of pot-smoking Amish kids sitting inside a smelly barn listening to techno music, either making out or dancing with booze in hand. It was sensory overload and an extremely awkward situation to be in as an "English" girl. So we left. Still, every time I hear the song "Around the world," by ATC I get trampled by memories of sweaty Amish kids bouncing around in a less than quality rhythmic motion.

Needless to say, my mother was livid with me for not telling her where I went that night. My friend and I returned at a spry two a.m. and were greeted by a very pissed-off mother. I was grounded for months and I had lost my mothers sense of trust. But that's where the romance began. Oh John!

We'd talk on the phone for hours and conspire to meet later in the day, when my mother was asleep. In the early morning hours I'd crawl out my window, meticulously careful to not make a sound, and scurry over to the nearby covered bridge. We'd kiss and flirt and learn about each other - normal teenage things. Only he went home to a house without electricity and cable television.

After my grounding had been forgotten I was able to be less secretive about my interactions with handsome John Miller, who always smelled like tanning solution and whose hair was always perfect and whose car was nicer than my parents.

Our relationship was purely surface-level. Shallower than the kiddie pool. He was hot, he thought I was hot, and voila! A relationship. How sweet!

On Valentine's Day he called me drunk. "WENDY!" he shouted, half-consciously when I answered the phone. He then began to sing, in a really un-melodic fashion, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy......" and there was a short pause before he shouted again, "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" I was pretty disgusted with his attempt at romance.

Those calls were not uncommon. You have to understand that I was, and still am, what many refer to as a "goody-goody." I never understood the logic behind using substances to distort reality and inhibitions just to have more fun.

I received another memorable call from him, either drunk or stoned or something, asking me to help him because his blanket was on fire. "Throw it out your window," I responded hardly concerned and more annoyed than anything. Was this true love?

In the end our relationship faded away as most young love's do. We eventually stopped calling and rarely spent time together. He was too exhausting and I was too angelic. Or something.

I saw him two years ago and he hadn't changed a bit. Unlike the other 99% if his Amish peers, he chose to not return back to the Amish way of life.

We were both at the salon. I was home for spring break and he was dying his hair blonde. Pre-blonde, I remember being struck again by his handsomeness, but I was only slightly affected by this because he couldn't formulate any coherent thoughts.

His hair looked horrible when he got out of the chair and it almost blinded me when the sun reflected off the blondeness as he walked out the door. I'm not sure what it was that made him do dye it that horrid color. Perhaps he had been drinking that day.