It started years before the actual incident, when we were teenagers. He was my first "real" boyfriend. We dated over the course of a week at summer camp. For the most part, we held hands and sat together in church on the days that I decided I liked him. Every other day, I ran away from him.
It was a mature relationship.
It ended as the week did and all I had to remember him by was a small California Raisin figurine holding a saxophone. We had bonded over our mutual love of the saxophone (we both played in the school band). It was a romantic gesture to me and I held onto the figurine for a long time before it made it's way to the land of lost items I forgot about.
We saw each other sparsely after that and, in my teenage wisdom, I decided I didn't like him after all. I spent the next few years despising him for numerous offences I had convinced myself he had committed.
I have no recollection of what they are now.
Many years later, we found ourselves present at the same wedding. I was a bridesmaid and he a family relative. We bantered back and forth - as we matured, it was both with a sharp tongue. I was dating someone else, so felt quite brave at the time. He was, after all, nothing to me. We had days leading up to the wedding and ended up thrown together for most of it.
One evening, after a particularly haggard round of church decorationing, I slipped out from the crowd and went for a long walk before heading back to the house. He followed and we spent time jumping on the trampoline in the back yard. Harmlessly flirting and sparring mentally, I never thought anything of it.
Until he knocked me over on the trampoline and leaned over for a kiss once we had both landed on the mat.
The only problem was, when he knocked me down, he also knocked a fart loose.
It was silent, thank God, but at 24 years of age, I was highly mortified and, being that I still had little actual romantic experience, I panicked. I jumped up from the trampoline and continued to bounce up and down hoping the movement would clear the air (so to speak) and he would be none the wiser. Once I was sure the stench had dispersed I was able to relax again.
The next time he knocked me over, I was much more prepared for it and made sure the same problem did not repeat itself. It was a brief makeout session that led to nothing more than a concession that I was not as mean as I lead others to believe and could actually be conquered.
We parted ways after that and he moved on to another woman who later became his wife. And still, every time I see him, I think about the time that my response to a grand romantic gesture was to rip a fart.