International Writers Magazine: Breaking Up
Over, Get Used To It.
funny how the programme Friends does not provide the
best backdrop to one of those defining moments in teenage life.
Here I was, face to face with my first real girlfriend, giving my
first ever attempt at the I dont think its working
routine, and having it littered with the occasional stint of canned
laughter, or the distracting image of a man physically stuck in
a pair of leather trousers.
So yes, here I
was. Or, here we were. The first big break up, and, from what I could
tell, it was going okay. No tears, no fighting, but that one glaring
omission from a typical break up, a final decision. For the weeks pre-break
up, I had hardly got a word out of Louise. I hardly saw her, hardly
spoke. I had been with my friends again, and had the best summer Id
had in years. I didnt want to give that up again for the stress
and anger this commitment was now causing me. And as far as I could
tell, she had been just fine without me around, so I was anticipating
a quick, painless and mutual decision. How wrong I was.
She got up to leave, acting strong and defiant. Somehow, she had turned
this around so that I was in more of an emotional state than her. Her
mum was coming to pick her up, but she wanted to leave anyway. She couldnt
bear being near me and imp standing, thinking to myself "what an
absolute prick I am". Now I will refrain from sharing the gory
details of the story, but I was now officially single again, and when
she closed that door behind her, there signalled the end to the most
concentrated period of growing up I had ever done. I felt proud. Proud
of what id been through, the time we were together, the break up, everything.
It was done now, that first relationship that I was sure was going to
send me on my way to bigger and bet...
A knock on the door and an all too familiar silhouette became apparent
in the glass. Considering that half an hour before, this girl had been
my girlfriend, I was scared shitless. Tentatively, I walked to the door
and placed my hand on the handle, opening it as slowly as I could, weary
of the fact she could have simply gone next door and stolen a knife
or something. But no knife, good start, not even any tears.
"Can I have a glass of water please?" she asked me. An odd
question, but I was hardly going to deny her.
"'Course you can. Why? Wwhats up?" I replied, ushering
her in the door to the surprise of my parents, who I assume had stood
in the kitchen listening to the previous conversation.
"Ive just been sick up the road." She told me, casually,
expecting me to greet that as normal. And so she came in, I got her
water, and we then sat down together, no talking, just sitting. All
nice and covered in sick.
Looking back, I cant help but laugh at how dramatic the whole
scene had been. The frustration at a TV programme I could have easily
switched off. Or how I simply could have been plain and honest and not
try to live up to the Hollywood break up scenario where its either
all fine and okay, or she will seek revenge and murder me. I think maybe
vie found the middle ground now, so any Hollywood directors who might
never read this, sick, thats what break ups are really about.
It might be over, but I dont intend on getting used to that.
© Dan Bond
bondd002 at medway.org.uk
Dan (The heartless Brute) is studying creative writing at the Universityof
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