So Valentine's Day is coming up and thoughts turn to... breakups? This is in no way reflective of the current state of affairs for me thankyouverymuch, but in my past, this was always a tumultuous time of year. Also, I stumbled upon an episode of Stuff Mom Never Told You about break up songs and why they hurt so good - endorphins tapping into our psyche and all. Also, there was a Yahoo! article on the same subject and while not as entertaining as Cristen and Caroline, supported their research on the subject.
What follows is a list of the songs that - more or less - nursed me through the boo-hoos when boys were mean.
Greg Khin Band "The Breakup Song" - has absolutely nothing to do with breaking up with someone for me, but it is a fun song from my tween years. One distinct memory I have of the song is our next door neighbor Patty driving me and my sisters and her cousins in her huge Oldsmobile to Vandercook Lake for an afternoon at the beach. We made crazy sandwiches and I ate banana and mustard. I remember vividly sitting in the backseat with Candi, Sara, and Heather, screaming "they don't write 'em like that anymore!" at the top of our lungs. Yeah, 1981 rocked.
Journal entry, 1982. The sentence started on the previous page and was "I want to know what if..." Answer: no. My 12 year old heart breaks. Ah, get ready for 10+ more years of this crap, kid.
Journey "Open Arms" - this one is almost too embarrassing to type. The ills of an unrequited crush. See, T was the cutest boy in our class, and I was one of many who had huge crushes on him. The reality of the situation was I was his closest girl friend but not his girlfriend - boy the space between those two words is significant. While I pined, I also was his sounding board as he "went with" J, M and R, two of my cousins and my best friend. He even asked me to deliver a heart-shaped box of candy on his behalf to R on VD when he was too shy to do it.
I saw him at the church's parish picnic the summer of 1982, and while we had fun hanging out, he wanted me to find out if one of my cousins, probably J, still liked him and wanted to get back together. You know, I think my little pre-teen brain snapped. Later that night, heart in my throat, I watched the Saturday Night Concert on MTV. The tear-soaked letter I wrote to T started "I'm watching Journey right now on MTV, and Steve Perry is singing 'Open Arms,' and after today, my arms will never be open to you again." Angst to the nth degree!
Of course, I never sent him the letter, and as time went on and I met more boys, I got over him and our friendship settled into something sweeter. I wish I knew where he was and hope I see him at our class reunion. Reading this over, I'm glad to have typed it anyway, because who hasn't been that silly teenager?
The Beatles "For No One" - Oh, this would be CH. He was the son of a co-worker who let his feelings known by purchasing a fundraiser construction paper shamrock and having it plastered over the bar, on Valentine's Day, at midnight. He was tall, handsome, sandy, but a little adrift in life, not sure where he was going or what he was going to do next. There had been talk of him studying philosophy or psychology at Spring Arbor College, but when I was with him he was a carpenter/garbage truck driver. What set him apart was his mother's regal influence over him, and I was immediately charmed. One of the loveliest evenings I spent with him was a dinner party at her house. It was a celebration of Pavarotti at the Met, broadcast on PBS. I wore a creamy yellow sweater dress and heels and we had Cornish hens and pork chops with stuffing at little tables set up bistro-style. I felt like a lady, and his mother's friends were complimentary of my manners and welcomed me into their discussion.
I found my old diaries from the time we saw each other, and I had forgotten how intense he was. The product of a broken home, we went from a first kiss to him musing over marriage a week later. He clung to me in a way that at first I found breathlessly romantic, but smothering after a month. He called me constantly, at one job, the other job, at home. Thank God cell phones did not exist back then.
Alas, he broke my heart on Good Friday, just before he was supposed to meet the extended family at Easter dinner. The reason? There are things in life one should not be pressured into, making love or saying I love you. All things in due time, but for CH, the time was now or never. Also, I think his own intensity got to the better of him, because for the week leading up to our breakup, he couldn't stand being apart, but being with me wasn't a picnic either. There is also maybe his doubts about how I felt about him. At that time, I tended towards protecting my emotions for fear of getting hurt and maybe wasn't as demonstrative as he wished me to be .
I think too he recieved a lot of pressure from others to lay off for a while, let me do my thing because of how busy I was. I was working two jobs and going to two different schools as I was figuring out who I wanted to be. I was truly running on empty some days, and all I wanted to do was collapse in his arms with the last bit of energy I had. What they didn't know, and maybe what I never conveyed is while school and work were the things I had to do, he was what I wanted to do, the only place I truly wanted to be.
It was around this time that I transitioned from "greatest hits" compilations to actual Beatles albums, and Revolver was, and still is, one of my favorites. While I numbingly went about the business of working, going to school and trying to forget him, this bassoon-driven ballad seemed to say exactly what I was going through.
CH was remorseful, and stalked me for a while in hopes of reconciling, sulking around corners at Walgreens, surprising me as I stocked aisles or filled prescriptions. One of the pharmacists, who treated me like a little sister, chased him away, along with a stock boy who kissed me to distract me. The last time I saw him was unfortunately the same day I was supposed to see an old crush from high school at a party. Both scenes ended badly, and I ended up with a vodka-induced headache for 3 days afterwards.
To this day, I regret our breakup because it meant the end of my friendship with his dear mother Marilyn. She piqued my interest in classical music and other beautiful things in life. Of all the people in life I have met, she remains the benchmark of class and elegance. I found out that she succombed to cancer a few years later.
Scene of the crime! The location of our first kiss! I didn't stalk, it's for sale, cheap.
I'm editing this as a postscript, because this relationship seems to be lingering in my head, 24 years past its due date. Blame the time of year, blame mid-life yarn-spinning, blame my need for justifying everything, most of all, blame the feeling of loss I'm coping with in response to my dad. I'm trying to put all the pieces of the story back together for my egotistical amusement, an impossible task without access to CH to go get drunk and have a laugh at the two immature lovers we were.
It's easy to dismiss the relationship as foolishness by an 18 year old, but wow, I can't. I do remember that at the time, I truly loved him. I did, as much as a shy, virginal teenager can express. I'm usually pretty good about remembering crazy details, but my brain has protected that tiny little portion of my heart that is still 18 by editing from my memory what CH said when he broke up with me; all I know is it was heartlessly cruel. I distinctly recall, however, how my heart physically felt when I walked out that door - it was akin to a blast to the chest, painful and hollow. I also remember screaming to myself, calling myself a fool for falling for him so hard, so fast when everyone warned me against it. I cried for weeks, maybe even a month straight. Above I mentioned being numb, and that is an apt description.
His first "visit" to Walgreens post-breakup is etched in my mind, when he came to apologize with the hopes to reunite. Shaking in my Keds sneakers, trying desperately not to cry, I simply said in the strongest voice I could muster, "You broke my heart." I think that is when I broke his. He responded quietly that he regretted what he said the minute he said it, and spent the last month trying to figure out how to make it up to me, didn't know what to do to make it better and asked me how. It echoes in my head that I said "I don't know..." That was also our last kiss; his kiss was an apology and a question and it took every bit of willpower I had not to give in.
This is where perhaps I made my mistake. While we did indeed breakup, it was a fight, a stupid fight that should have been forgiven. God, I still loved him, but it hurt me that I did. Determined not to be a fool, forgiveness was not an option, no matter how often he hung out at Walgreens reading magazines and buying one stick of deodorant after another as a pretext for being there.
Yet I feel I need to offer up what was magical about him. Why? I'm bothered by my immaturity. And the fact I haven't talked to anyone from that time in my life for a long time, it's as if it never happened and I can't accept that. If I can remember him, then he did exist, it did happen and he did matter. This can also stand in as an apology to him, 24 years too late.
He is perhaps the only boy I fell in love with at first sight. When Mike, the bartender attempted to console me after our breakup, he said, "I know I warned you against falling for him, but I was too late, wasn't I?" Yep.
First kiss, total magic - he bashfully asked for permission after showing me his uncle's house (above) and enveloped me in a romantic embrace while fat snowflakes gently danced around us.
His kisses were magic -- at 6'7" to my 5'3", it was probably easier to pick me up and swing me around while kissing me. No objections here, I kind of liked being swept off my feet. He kind of swept me off my feet even when they were planted firmly on the ground anyway.
In my diaries when describing a night, date or dinner together, I always ended the story with "I floated home."
He made me feel beautiful, radiant, loved, cherished and wanted, even when I was greasy, angry, hot and tired.
For some reason, every time I think of him, Debussy's "Clair de Lune" plays in my mind. How lovely, and I have no idea why.
He worked to put me at ease when I was timid, awkward and shy.
He believed in us before there even was an us. Problem was he gave it up and didn't let me have a say in the matter until my heart was hardened against reconciliation.
*sigh* Couple of silly kids not able to manage it.
Update! I did find him, easy as pie: the internet is a magical thing sometimes. I sent him a simple note to let him know about my dad, share my thoughts about his mom and her influence on me and that I was glad he was once part of my life. No response, wasn't really expecting one, but it sets my mind at ease that I had the courage to reach out and the possibility of reconnecting as friends exists.
Like any classic soul song from the 70s, I'm labelling this pt. 1. More to come later.. stupid boys.
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