 |
| Image found here |
Like most girls, I experimented with "dating" during my early adolescence. I called boys on the phone, sat next to them in the cafeteria, visited them at their houses, and even let a few lucky ones kiss me on my front porch. Together we ignorantly applied boyfriend/girlfriend labels to explain our hallway hand-holding, and we escorted one another to coed spirit dances.
In my mind, this was all very serious. I believed I cared deeply for each of these boys. I was sure every one of them was The One. When these infantile romances fizzled out I was convinced it was a travesty.
Looking back, this reaction amuses me. My responses seem so silly and forced now. I was merely acting something I had expected. I had formed an archetype for romantic relationships and shoved whatever cutie I could into the heartthrob role. Together we'd put on a play about union and happily ever after. Then we would call it quits when we tired of that particular script. I'd end the whole show like a proper tragedy; acting distraught over love lost. I'd belly ache about my broken heart (even penning a few stanzas).
On the surface I'd seem melancholy, but deep inside I knew I was fine. I was aware that nothing had really changed. I was who I always had been. It was safe to behave this way because I hadn't truly lost anything.
Then, during my later teens, I stopped playing at relationships, and started actually having them. At 15, my first real boyfriend came along. My first real break-up followed a year later. I remember it distinctly because the sensation was more vivid than any other split I'd experienced.
The weather was moderate that winter afternoon. So, he had invited me for a walk. We strolled in silence for some time. As the tension built, I became aware that something had shifted. When he began "the talk," my nerves danced and my stomach dropped.
I can't remember if he initiated the final blow, or if I identified it as the thus unstated option. Regardless of the build up, I was startled when the words were finally released. In that brief moment, with that small and quickly stated sentence, something changed between us. In one single instance, my perception was completely altered. Though still side-by side and rubbing shoulders as we walked, we were no longer an us. It was over. He knew it, and I knew it. Our bond had broken, and the air we now breathed seemed somehow different.
All of my break-ups since have had a similar moment in which, no matter who instigated it, the end instantly fell upon us like that. Each time I'm amazed by the power of these moments. It still baffles me how just a few puffs of air can alter your whole world view. One look, a tilt of the head, or even a slight tone can put something out there that instantly forces a new reality without physically changing anything.
In my mind, this was all very serious. I believed I cared deeply for each of these boys. I was sure every one of them was The One. When these infantile romances fizzled out I was convinced it was a travesty.
Looking back, this reaction amuses me. My responses seem so silly and forced now. I was merely acting something I had expected. I had formed an archetype for romantic relationships and shoved whatever cutie I could into the heartthrob role. Together we'd put on a play about union and happily ever after. Then we would call it quits when we tired of that particular script. I'd end the whole show like a proper tragedy; acting distraught over love lost. I'd belly ache about my broken heart (even penning a few stanzas).
On the surface I'd seem melancholy, but deep inside I knew I was fine. I was aware that nothing had really changed. I was who I always had been. It was safe to behave this way because I hadn't truly lost anything.
Then, during my later teens, I stopped playing at relationships, and started actually having them. At 15, my first real boyfriend came along. My first real break-up followed a year later. I remember it distinctly because the sensation was more vivid than any other split I'd experienced.
The weather was moderate that winter afternoon. So, he had invited me for a walk. We strolled in silence for some time. As the tension built, I became aware that something had shifted. When he began "the talk," my nerves danced and my stomach dropped.
I can't remember if he initiated the final blow, or if I identified it as the thus unstated option. Regardless of the build up, I was startled when the words were finally released. In that brief moment, with that small and quickly stated sentence, something changed between us. In one single instance, my perception was completely altered. Though still side-by side and rubbing shoulders as we walked, we were no longer an us. It was over. He knew it, and I knew it. Our bond had broken, and the air we now breathed seemed somehow different.
All of my break-ups since have had a similar moment in which, no matter who instigated it, the end instantly fell upon us like that. Each time I'm amazed by the power of these moments. It still baffles me how just a few puffs of air can alter your whole world view. One look, a tilt of the head, or even a slight tone can put something out there that instantly forces a new reality without physically changing anything.
Ah yes... those days. I remember them well. :-P
ReplyDelete