My Reintroduction to Ron Clark

Three years ago on this day, I was feeling pretty down.  I was about 2 months into the break-up of a relationship of more than nine years.  Things with us has not been going well for quite some time, but after so many years of compatibility, you become complacent with one another and with the routine of things.  When my ex finally said he was done, for real, after a series of mini break-up type things that didn’t really stick, I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me. 

I had been staggering around since the break-up, thinking I would never find anyone else who would truly get me.  I had already had a few very fun adventures with friends as a single person, so, I did have hope (after a short, overdramatic, not entirely uncommon, and largely secretive period of thinking I did not want to live without my ex) that I would go on existing.  I just figured I would exist alone, if not forever, than at least for a long while – like, a minimum of a year or two.  This seemed like some kind of penance I could assign to myself – years of solitude – after “picking wrong” and basing so much of my life around the “wrong” person for me.  In hindsight, that line of thinking was pretty harsh . . . that relationship had worked for many years until one day, it just didn’t anymore.  There was no right or wrong.  Even though breaking-up felt wrong to me at the time, it was completely the right thing.  It was what needed to happen so that I would be free to fall for Ron Clark.

My dear friend Gretchen had given me some advice in mid-February when we were out celebrating our birthdays.  She told me I needed to practice talking to boys who weren’t my ex.  After 9+ years with the same boy, this seemed impossible, but I tucked her wisdom away in my brain and decided that when the time felt right, I would use it.

2 years, 11 months, and 30 days ago, I was reintroduced to Ron Clark.  We were both at Rubble’s Bar in Mount Pleasant, MI.  For those who have not been there, Rubbles is a dark, sticky, smelly place.  On nights when there is live music, it is packed asshole to elbow with boozed-up hard rock diehards and university students.  It is a beloved little dive in the central Michigan music scene.  Ron and I were both there to see our favorite local bands, the Kincaids and Mustard Plug.  I was meeting up with a mutual friend of ours, Alex, who had become my most reliable compatriot in navigating the break-up life, given that he was also suffering the deterioration of his marriage and was a few months ahead of me in the process.  Upon arriving, I initially sat in my car, listening to a depressing song on repeat and debating about whether I could handle Rubbles.  I decided to be a big girl and go in and do what I came to do – drink and dance.  I went in, paid my cover, and found Alex talking to three guys, one of whom was Ron, another Ron’s roommate, Mitch, and the other his friend, Jake.  When I walked up to Alex, he introduced me to all of them.

While shaking my hand, Ron said, “I think I know you.  You’re Dustin’s sister.  I used to play in your brother’s band.”  Instantly, memories of this little chubby kid with a big horn and a messy red Festiva parked in my parents’ suburban driveway came to mind.  I had been in college and he was in high school at the time, which seemed like a vast age difference during that era.  Only here he was all these years later, a charming and dapper young man, wearing a cabbie hat, a smart looking wool blazer, and a septum piercing.  My heart fluttered a little, but I tried to be nonchalant in my greetings.  I also reminded myself of the post break-up solitude penance that was needed.  No point in getting too excited – I had years left to be alone and figure stuff out before I could jump back into dating.   

The rest of the night at Rubbles was a raucous good time.  I was in the pit for most of both bands.  My ears were blown out by the big bass speakers to the left of the stage.  Alex and I both drank our fair share then sweated out the alcohol dancing.  I didn’t see much of Ron, except when I had to return to the bar for more beer or go to the semi-functioning bathroom to pee it out.  Then, I would steal little glances at him when he wasn’t looking.  I thought to myself, 'Gretchen did say I should practice just talking to a boy . . . and here was a boy I would like to talk to.'  But, I remained steadfast to the music – no time for talking to boys when the Kincaids are playing Cookin the Books or Mustard Plug is playing Thigh High Nylons.

Alex and I exited Rubbles at 2:00am, a collective soaked through sweaty mess.  We had a plan that I was going to follow him home, take a shower, and then we would watch a movie together.  When we emerged into the cold February night, there was Ron, Mitch, and Jake waiting for us.  Ron asked if we wanted to go to Lil’ Chef, an all night diner, with them to grab a bite of post-show grub.  I quite literally had steam rolling off me.  I needed a shower before I would agree to do anything else.  So, Alex and I declined, but Alex invited the boys over to his house to cook breakfast instead.  They agreed.

At 3:00am, showered and in my pajamas (because I just didn’t care and only wanted to be comfortable and was not there to impress anyone anyway – years of solitude, remember?), I sat at Alex’s kitchen table while he and Ron created a feast.  Both of them have been to culinary school and are geniuses with food.  Ron brought a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage to me.  He was full of chivalry, saying, “Ladies first.”  I picked the meat off my plate while he apologized for not knowing I wouldn’t eat sausage.  He didn't even know me, so how could he have known?  What a sweet guy, I thought, telling him not to worry about it and having no trouble passing the meat on to other willing mouths.  We all ate and conversed, though I tried to talk very little, a mixture of trying to be mysterious and not wanting to make an ass of myself in front of new people (I figured Alex already knew what an ass I could be).

My heart pulled more and more toward the adorable, intelligent, sweet Ron Clark in Alex’s kitchen that night.  Alex and I invited the boys to stay for the movie, but they had to go.  I think Ron had to work the next day.  He was a line cook at a truck stop restaurant.  I tried to stop myself right there with my growing Ron Clark infatuation – I could fall for no one in the restaurant industry, since this had been the line of work of my ex when we split up.  No more chefs or cooks.  But . . . the heart wants what the heart wants.

Alex and I watched our movie.  I kept thinking about Ron and how much I would like it if he could be the boy I practiced talking to.  However, since I had such a strong pull toward him and this conflicted with the self-imposed years of solitude I felt I needed before dating again, I decided I would not talk to him.  

Not unless he reached out to me first . . .

Fortunately, he did . . . 

For anyone who wants to feel the scene at Rubbles that night, here's a little clip.  

I would like to extend my love and appreciation for Alex, Rubbles, the Kincaids, and Mustard Plug for bringing Ron and I together that evening and for hosting, playing for, donating to, and helping out with Ron's benefit concert last spring.