My Valentine’s Day Story
We all can point to one moment in our lives when the world comes crashing down, all of our sugar plum illusions are dashed, and flaming embers are placed in our bowels. Generally this is a good thing, the earlier it happens, as it’s all part of ‘growing up’ and maturing.
And if you happen to be in High School at the time, it can also lead to the writing of some awfully bad poetry…
None of which I’m going to reproduce here, by the way, unless my wife gets me really really really drunk.
Anyhow, there our hero was, in the prime of his youthful vigor, during the winter of 81/82 (goodgawdallmighty I’m getting old) in the midst of his senior year in High School. Ah, life was good. Cross country season had ended successfully, we were in the midst of an enjoyable winter track schedule, college essays were all mailed off, I had a small core of friends that I spent every free minute with…and I had HER. The girlfriend, the love of my life. Not any mere girlfriend, mind you but THE ONE (let’s ignore for a moment, if you please, the minor fact that she was also my first girlfriend, and I was but 18, so my powers of discernment were, shall we say, somewhat less than precise), the GIRL I WAS FATED FOR. Ah, the tender spark of teenaged romance that had been lovingly nurtered for several months had grown to a roaring furnace of impassioned desire and there, there looming on the calendar was February 14th, the One True Day of Love. Dare I hope? Dare I dream? Hell, dare I que up the Rod Stewart?
Valentine’s Day arrives…we have dinner…we’re walking alone in the hallway after dinner…she turns to me…and breaks up with me. I looked at the floor, sure in the knowledge that having my heart ripped right out like that must have made one hell of a mess on the linoleum…where’s the blood? Hell, where’s my breath? I’m dying…dying…the gaping maw of the Abyss is staring at me, the Gnarly Pit that my guts have now become is tearing…shredding…churning. My life was over. Done.
Hindsight shows that I’m very glad she did dump me. There’s no way that had I ended up with her that I would be anywhere near as happy as I am now, none. But whoa nelly was that a tough thing to go through at the time, but it helped me grow immensely, and I’m over it.
I hope that somewhere in the deep depths of that salt mine that she’s toiling in she can hear my “thanks.”
People | Mr. Bingley | 
February 14, 2005 2:31 pm
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You’ve handled it extremely well. And so glad you’re not bitter…
I had to re-read one line though.. I was sure that read “the GIRL I WAS FATTED FOR” the first time round…
“flaming embers in the bowels”?
Whoa Nelly, that’s a hell of a breakup.
Somebody pour that man a drink!!.. and start looking for that awfully bad poetry
Another small word of advice
To all the guys out there with some form of involvement with the female of the species: Today being Valentine’s Day, I highly recommend that you not let it go by without some recognition. Metaphorical “flaming embers in the bowels”…
Pete, I was very scrawny at the time…like 50 pounds lighter than I am now.
Flaming embers, nothin’! I thought ‘tender spark of teenaged romance that had been lovingly nurtered‘ said neutered. Goofy me.
that took a few years.
Trying to remember if I met that one. And here I thought those flaming embers in the bowels were those pickled jalapeños you and the Grinch used to buy in the #10 cans….
Damn, they were good, those jalapeños, weren’t they?
Oh yeah, you met her.
Damn, they were good, those jalapeños, weren’t they?
Didn’t appreciate them at the time, but would prolly enjoy them now.
You must have been really really really drunk to write that bad poetry, considering your prose and all.
No, just a silly teenage boy; the effects of being young and stupid will trump the effects of alcohol nearly every time (except, mind you, when one is young and stupid and on alcohol).
Let us not forget the constant hormone overload all teenagers have to live with! Alcohol is sort of like throwing gasoline on the fire.
Heh. Not a pretty mixture!
Now, you know what they say, Mr. Bingley: “Beer, making ugly women beautiful for thousands of years”.
Not that I know this from personal experience, mind you, but I’ve had friends awaken after to a nightmare after a night of heavy drinking.
JeffS, in the Corps we call that a ‘One‘ or ‘Two Coyote‘ morning. A ‘One Coyote‘ means you woke up with your arm under a nightmare and then chewed it off, so she/he wouldn’t wake up as you snuck out. A ‘Two Coyote‘ is when she/he is sooooooooo FUGLY that, as soon as you were safely home, you chewed your remaining arm off so you couldn’t ever do it again.
The guys all get prettier at closing time, too…or so I’ve heard.