Once a year (on Valentine’s Day), I wear my heart-shaped diamond necklace. Two rows of little diamonds, inlaid in gold, in the shape of a heart. Not really my style. But it works on Valentine’s Day. And it was given to me by an ex-boyfriend ON a Valentine’s Day years ago. It is actually the only piece of jewelry ever given to me by a boyfriend (except for my first boyfriend from fourth grade,who rarely talked to me but gave me gifts every holiday). And so, I wear the necklace partially in honor of a past relationship–the only serious relationship I’ve had where the guy really treated me the way a woman should be treated.
And I broke his heart.
“Wes” and I were a wrong match from the start. He was younger, barely graduated high school with no intention of going to college, and was satisfied going to a so-so job everyday with no ambitions or goals to do better. Two things kept us together: humor and physical chemistry. Ok, three things–he was also wrapped around my finger. I ended our initial relationship because I knew we weren’t going anywhere. But we then proceeded to be on-again-off-again for a year after until we called it quits completely.
This past Friday, I forgot all about the many reasons we didn’t work out when I found a picture of us in a stack of old photos. I looked at how happy we were and started getting all nostalgic. I remembered our first kiss. I remembered how he drove three hours in the middle of the night just to wish me a Happy Birthday. I remembered how I got home from a tough day at work to find he’d gone out of his way to get me my favorite orange chicken from the Chinese place at the mall.
So I did what any normal, masochistic woman would do–I texted him to see how he was doing.
And he called me back.
Now, the last time I talked to him was when I was incredibly intoxicated and wandering down Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, NC with some friends. I don’t remember anything about that conversation except getting teary-eyed as I told him my mom passed away and then him telling me something about having surgery on his hip. But I digress.
So he calls me back and I answer, full of expectations about rekindling a friendship. After all, I don’t have much interaction with males except for the creepy ones that haunt the library and stare at me with I’m-going-to-chop-you-up-and-put-you-in-my-freezer eyes. Occasionally, this single girl starts longing for some flirty conversation with the opposite sex. And exes can be good for that. At times.
We start with small talk. Wes apparently got some of that ambition he used to lack–he’s a district manager in charge of sales for a brewing company. He travels around, talking to people, with plans to do big things. I’m impressed.
But as the conversation went on, I started to be reminded of all the reasons we didn’t work out. We just don’t have a whole lot to talk about; we don’t have a lot in common except our past. He just basically spent the entire conversation talking about his job. We ended it with an “if you’re in my area, let me know and we can meet up” but I rather doubt that will actually happen.
This got me to thinking about my tendency to romanticize other people. Particularly ex-boyfriends. I’ve been single for so long that I’ve started to look at my ex-boyfriends and think, “They weren’t so bad.” But, in reality, they were. The funny one was a liar. The hot one was a cheater. And Wes and I just didn’t have anything to really talk about. This realization was the slap in the face and kick in the pants I needed. As my best friend, Leslie said to me today, “we deserve better.” So maybe it’s time we went looking for better, Leslie. You with me?
