All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Maybe Humpty Dumpty just wanted to be left alone.
I remember my first heartbreak.
I was a young girl of 14 when I met Tony. He was this real cute older kid who came into our local hangout one afternoon to visit one of the boys in our group. As he strut his stuff over to our table, I remember thinking five words: Hmm. Looks like Elvis. Cute. There were no other thoughts that entered my mind because despite the fact that I liked boys, I was used to the fact that they didn’t like me—the quiet, chubby girl who looked like Pocahontas. So seeing Tony was no big deal to me. I knew the drill. I could look, but then I had to forget.
Imagine my shock when I learned later that day that this cute guy liked me. He LIKED ME! I was miffed, and mortified, and all the other good stuff that comes with the knowledge that a boy likes you—for the very first time in your whole life.
Within a month, Tony became my boyfriend. He got the full meet-n-greet interrogation from my father, and once that was done and approved, Tony became a household name. But there was one tiny problem. He was 19 and had an agenda.
I was 15 when Tony began acting weird—hinting around about doing things that adults did. I knew what he meant, because my best friend, Mandy, told me all about sex. But sex wasn’t something that I was willing to participate in. And it would be okay because Tony would understand. He loved me. He cared about me. Right?
By the time I hit 16, it had became more than obvious that Tony, who was now 21, wasn’t willing to wait. But I didn’t know that he wasn’t willing to wait. I didn’t think sex was important. I was a young naive girl who thought that if you loved someone, you marry them, and then all the other stuff falls into place.
But then the summer came. I remember Tony leaving my house one night after watching TV with my family. I remember walking him to his car, a gold Cutlass Supreme, and him kissing my cheek and saying, I’ll talk to you in the morning. It was the same thing he said to me every night when he left my house.
But the next morning, I didn’t hear from him. I called his house a dozen times, but each time was told that he wasn’t home. The next day when I didn’t hear from him, I did the same, and again, was told that he wasn’t home.
By the third day, I had my sister drive me over to his house to look for his car. But when I didn’t see it, I rang his doorbell and was told to never come to the house again.
By the fourth day, after calling his house, I was told never to call there again.
I was distraught. I was crushed. I was worried. I had questions. I had feelings that were new to me. Was he hurt? Did I do something wrong? But the real hurt came when I figured out that he wasn’t coming back.
I must have cried for weeks. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. My young, naive heart was shattered into tiny shards of glass. There’s nothing worse than making someone your world only to have them abandon you without as much as a goodbye.
By the end of that summer, I was still upset but began to move on, and that’s when my sister came home one night and told me she saw Tony in a club with another girl.
“A club?” I bellowed. “What’s a club?”
Her answer was my second first-lesson about life in the real world.
Many years have passed, and I can still recall that summer. I can still see the hurt little girl who gave her heart and trust to someone who tricked her into believing that he loved her. I don’t feel any pain or remorse from that memory, but for some reason, the memory remains in the corridors of my mind—and seems to kick-in every time I hear about someone who’s been cheated on.
It turned a trusting girl into a cynical woman who was determined to know why men cheat.
**I’ll be posting several stories about relationships and the reasons why men cheat. So stay tuned! And thank you for stopping by. If you have a story to share, by all means, leave it in the comment box—-that little thingy underneath my name—-yes, down there 🙂