I stepped onto the Red Line train at Metro Center and scanned up and down the car for an empty seat. There was only one, directly behind a teenage couple engaged in a full on make-out session. Reluctantly, I took the seat.
I was listening to the latest edition of the "This American Life" podcast. The topic was "breakups" or rather, dealing with breakups. I found this incredibly ironic because it took me only approximately 10 seconds of sitting behind "kissing couple" to know that their relationship would at some point result in a tragic breakup... the kind suitable for retelling on the very episode of "This American Life" that I was listening to as they passionaltly embraced right in front of me.
Not only could I tell that the relationship would end poorly, but I could even tell who would be the one left with the broken heart.
They were both attractive people. The girl had long, dark, flowing hair, and big puffy lips... the kind of girl I'm prone to falling in love with on just about any other day on the metro.
The guy had long hair, pulled back into a pony tail, and soft, pretty facial features that were slightly offset by unkempt facial hair that left him with a rebellious twist. I wrote in my journal that he looked like Che Guevara but if Che had been an Italian soccer player obsessed with having "good hair".
"Che" was sprawled across his ladies lap and in between kisses he closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep. "Penelope" (that's what I've decided to call his romantic counterpart) starred at him longingly when he closed his eyes and ran her fingers tips up and down his cheek brushing against his ear.
She was trying to let him sleep but every few seconds she couldn't help herself and would lower her lips to his face and plant soft kisses on his closed eyelids, his nose, his mouth.
"Che" would open his eyes, they would kiss passionately for a few seconds, and then he would close his eyes again and the process would repeat...
Finally, she left him alone long enough for him to drift off to sleep... and as if on cue, his phone rang... he stirred awake and answered the phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but the entire time he was trying to talk "Penelope" was back to her old tricks, kissing his ear, his cheek, his forehead, etc.
There was a trace of annoyance on his face. It went unspoken but it was there to be seen, and really, who could blame him? How could he not be annoyed by constant facial touching?
"He's probably too nice a guy to protest," I wrote... "But eventually, he will..."
It was plain to see that she needed him more than he needed her. And that's a recipe for disaster.
In 3 months he'll dump her for being so smothering, but he won't tell her why. Maybe he won't even know why... But he'll move on and she won't... She'll stalk him on MySpace, pick a fight with his new girlfriend at the mall, and finally key his car in an act of desperation... you know, as a final expression of "her love".
We can only hope the whole saga ends up on Judge Judy someday.
In honor of the kissing couple seated next to me on the train, and in honor of the "This American Life" segment on breakups, I figured it would be a good time for us all to tell breakup stories... I'll start with one of my own, and then you guys can share your own in the comments section.
Mine will be a little unconventional... Usually when you think of a breakup story you think of one where your heart was broken, but I'm going to tell one about breaking someone else's heart.
It starts in High School where I had a girlfriend that was totally, completely, utterly in love with me in the way only a teenage girl can be. I dare say she loved me just as much as "Penelope" loved "Che".
And I loved her too, but not with the kind of love that could honestly rival hers. In fact, her passion was so strong that I could never fully believe it. Having the self esteem of a 16 year old boy, it was just incomprehensible that someone could love me that much. I wanted to know why...
Part of me felt that she only loved me because she was a teenage girl and she thought she was supposed to be "in love" with her boyfriend. By my way of thinking, it wasn't even anything special about me, It was just the idea of me, the boyfriend. I could never fully accept that- indeed- this beautiful girl was really in love with me for me.
So every couple weeks I would do something to test her love... At the time I didn't even realize that I was testing her, but looking back on it now with the eyes of an adult I can see that clearly, that's what I was doing.
I would act distant or cold towards her for days at a time for no apparent reason and give no explanation. I would flirt with other girls. Mention in passing how her friend Eva was really cute in that new dress. I would forget to meet her in between classes... All the typical teenage mind games.
All of this was in an effort to see how she reacted. As long as my actions could hurt her, then I could see her emotions were real... If I could make her cry, then that must mean she loved me. Right?
It was all very juvenile behavior, but then again, I was a juvenile!
We ended up breaking up several times but we always got back together. Then finally, after about a year together I started to get bored... I had eyes for a Puerto Rican beauty in my Geometry class and so I started looking for a way out... But because I wasn't man enough to just breakup with her, I needed to somehow make it her fault.
Then one day I got my chance when Moe Greene saw some guy on the football team pass my girlfriend a note... that was all I needed. I confronted her about it the next day and she told me that indeed, the football player had given her a note asking her out on a date, but that she had turned him down.
She had even kept the note, as well as her rejection reply just in case I didn't believe her. The only reason she hadn't told me about it in the first place was that she thought I might try to pick a fight with this romantic rival... Of course I knew she was telling the truth, but I pretended not to believe her. I refused to read the notes or even listen to her explanations any further. I dumped her on the spot for her "cold hearted betrayal".
And of course she cried... but the novelty of being able to make her cry for me had finally worn off. It was really over this time.
Of course I never got the girl from my Geometry class, never even got the courage to tell her how I felt... And after a few months, my ex-girlfriend started dating someone new, though it was not the football player... I remember feeling hurt that she moved on, but at the same time I knew it was her right to do so. We wouldn't speak for another 2 and half years.
We were both taking classes at a local community college when we ran into each other. She was still with the "new guy" but he had enlisted in the Army and was away at boot camp. We shared an awkward lunch and made small talk. And then, without provocation, she brought up the breakup.
"I was telling the truth about that football player you know, if you had only just read the notes...," she told me.
I conceded that I had believed her all along and went on to tell her the real story about what had really happened... About how I had wanted out of the relationship but didn't know how to get out... About my crush on the girl from Geometry... And about how stunned I was when I saw her with "the new guy" a few months after our breakup... I told her everything.
When I finished, she was crying. I reached my hand out to try and comfort her but she slapped it away. She called me a bastard. Told me that I had broken her heart, and that she cried herself to sleep for weeks after I dumped her. In fact, she claimed that she dated "the new guy" for 6 weeks before she would even kiss him because she had still been so in-love with me!
I felt terrible of course... but at the same time I felt powerful. All those juvenile feelings came out again... "It's been 2 and half years and I can still make her cry! She must have really loved me!"
I spent the rest of the semester trying to woo her back. I vowed that I'd never hurt her again if she just gave me another chance... and I really meant it. But to her credit, she had learned from her mistake. She would never let me hurt her again she claimed.
But I didn't listen. I tried everything I could to win back her trust... flowers... jewelry... I even woke up at 6 am every Tuesday and Thursday to pick her up from her house and drop her off at school even though my classes didn't start until noon... But nothing could be done.
She had finally moved on and now I was the one left broken hearted. After the semester ended and she no longer needed a ride to that 6 am class we would pass each other on campus and she wouldn't even acknowledge me. Not even a wave, head nod, or even eye contact. I ended up dropping my classes and taking a job working the night shift at a gas station.
Every night at the gas station I would listen to "I Wonder" by Chris Issac over and over again on my discman... The song seemed to perfectly capture how I felt... I had found true love, accidentally thrown it away, and now it was lost forever. I'm pretty sure my obsession with that song prolonged my misery by at least 3 months, but of course, if a song by Chris Issac can have such a profound effect on you then you probably deserve to be depressed anyway.
I didn't know it then but becoming obsessed with a single song after a heartbreak would become a pattern for me. Here's a list of a couple others that I would later on become obsessed with:
"Take Another Little Piece of My Heart" - Janis Joplin
"Dammit" - Blink 182
"A Long December" - The Counting Crows
"Ensename a Olvidar" - Aventura
"You Don't Have to Say You Love Me" - Dusty Springfield
So there it is... My breakup story. Now lets hear yours. It can be about you being dumped, about you dumping someone else, how you got over being dumped, anything, as long as it involves someone being dumped. It can be from last week or third grade... You can be brief or you can ramble on about every detail... FITS is here for you. Get it out, I'm in a mood to read about other people's misery... bonus points if you can include any good breakup songs.
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Farting in the Shower is a ramblingand ecclectic mix of short stories, embarrasing confessions, pictures, and fast food reviews.
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20 comments:
August - 1998
Frederick, MD
I’ve been courting “Kelly” for about a week. Nothing out of the ordinary. I work with her friend, “Alex”. Alex and Kelly live about fifteen minutes from Frederick, thus placing them at a different high school than yours truly. Neither of them knows me for the hyper middle school kid who never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Hell, Kelly doesn’t know me at all. Alex knows me for liking sports, working my after-school job, and like every other 17-year-old male, watching girls. One evening, Kelly came in to talk to Alex. I was smitten; she was perfect. She was short, had short hair, and a great smile. While being smitten wasn’t anything new to me, it was different because I actually had an “in” with this girl. She knows Alex and, more importantly, doesn’t know anything about me. I’m just another high school teenager; not the annoying boy from middle school. Of course, I’m terrified to actually say anything to her, so I act as if I don’t know she’s there and do my job. The second…THE SECOND…she leaves, I ramble on about how “hot” I thought she was and how Alex needed to tell her all about me. You know, the guy he’s known for approximately three months.
Anyway, back to the week-long courting. I ask Alex everyday how Kelly’s doing. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. I’ve never uttered a single sentence to this girl and suddenly concerned about her well-being and making sure she’s eating her fruits and vegetables. Alex plays nice, though. He says she actually asked about me, too. So, I go to work on my night off. Just hanging out with Alex. Talking about sports and watching girls. It’s what we do. Guess who’s there?
Kelly’s bowling on lane 23. See, Alex and I work at a bowling center. He’s at the front desk, conveniently place directly behind 23, or should I say, lane 23 happens to be directly in front of the desk. Whatever. Kelly’s there with Alex’s girlfriend, “Danielle.” I know Danielle. ANOTHER “IN”. Again, I can’t muster the courage to actually speak to Kelly. A terribly awkward charade of “go talk to her/go talk to him” proceeds to take place for the next five minutes. Finally, as I’m getting ready to leave (broken hearted, of course), Kelly stops bowling and starts talking to Alex. Turning whiter than a Dodgers uniform, I’m saying my good-byes to Danielle and Alex. Before I take a step towards the door, Kelly stops me and puts her phone number in my back pocket.
Allow me to reiterate… Kelly stops ME and gives me HER phone number. Never, in my seventeen years on Earth has a girl approached me, let alone Kelly. God knows what I mumbled to her as I hurried out the door. I call her that night (fuck waiting six days)…
The six day rule is lame.
Type faster!
Labor Day Weekend – 2008
Frederick, MD
Kelly and I talk on the phone everyday. The late 90’s was the peak for pagers, also. Pagers were to text messages as leather hats were to football helmets. We paged each other excessively. “463 273 968” “94287 87” and so on and so on. I’m listening to Barenaked Ladies, “Stunt”, constantly.
We’ve never been on a “date” before. She gave me her number on a Monday. We make plans for the following Saturday. I drive a 1989 Plymouth Horizon. She drives a 1994 Honda Accord.
She picks me up.
“What do you want to do?”
“Um, how about bowling?”, she replies.
Bowling? Really? I work at a bowling center. Whatever. I really don’t care. I’m far to happy to be sitting next to her in her car. She throws a curve ball, though.
“Let’s go bowling in Hagerstown, instead.”
Kelly, I love you. She totally understands that bowling, where I work, would be insanely awkward. The change of scenery was unexpected, but a welcome surprise nonetheless.
So, we go bowling. She was wearing a white tank top with white shorts and a white jacket. Kinda like a running outfit, but not really. I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing. If I had to think about it hard enough, my guess would be a green polo shirt with beige shorts. What I wore doesn’t matter. What matters is that, nine years later, I still remember EXACTLY what she was wearing.
After bowling, we head back to Frederick to say hi to Danielle. She works at Dundler Mifflin’s main competitor on Route 355. She’s seems tickled that Kelly and I aren’t being awkward at all. It’s like we’ve been dating for two months, only, we’ve been dating for two hours. We ask her where we should eat. She suggests a new fast food place called Checkers. The weather is gorgeous and you can eat at one of their tables under the shade.
Yup. We had fast food on our first date. Whatever. It didn’t matter.
After “dinner”, we decided to see a movie. A small flick featuring a relatively unknown Ben Stiller and Cameron Diaz. It also starred Jets quarterback, Brett Favre. Of course, I’m talking about "There’s Something About Mary". We laughed, we held hands, and we even stayed after the credits. You could say “Build Me Up, Buttercup” was our song, now.
After the movie, we decided to call it a night. She drove me home and we decided that we’d hang out again tomorrow…the Sunday before Labor Day.
Lots of typos...Trying to write this as I work...
*Labor Day Weekend - 1998
*Far TOO excited to be sitting next to her in her car.
Probably others I didn't see...
Working on Part Three, now...
“463 273 968” “94287 87”
WHAT?
"How are you?"
949 273 968
"What's up?"
94287 87
Tell me you were able to experience the pager-craze of the mid-late 90's
Nope. Pagers were phasing out when I was in high school (1999 - 2002). Awkward couples communicated via AOL Instant Messaging.
Part Three
Labor Day Weekend – 1998
Frederick, MD
We’re hanging out again, today! That is, until I find out that I need to work for someone who didn’t show up at the bowling center. It’s the 2pm – 10pm shift on a Sunday. I'll be bored out of my mind.
I call Kelly to give her the news. She offers to come hang out while I work.
“No, it’s okay. What are you doing tonight?”
“I guess nothing, now.”
“Can you hang out after I get off work?”
“Let me check with my parents.”
There’s no school tomorrow, so the likelihood of her getting out of the house should be pretty good.
“Hey, I talked to my dad and told him I’m hanging out with Danielle tonight. What time should I meet you?”
“Really!?!?!?! That’s awesome! Can you meet me (the bowling center) at 10:00?”
“Of course! I’ll see you then!”
We continue to talk to (and page) each other throughout the day. She picks me up at 10:00, on the nose.
“What do you want to do?” she asks.
“Want to get a movie?”
“Okay, but where will we watch it?”
“My house. My mom and her boyfriend are in North Carolina until tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
We drive to the videostore. As we’re looking for a movie, she points to “Titanic". Yes, THE TITANIC, and informs me that she’s NEVER SEEN THE MOVIE.
What!?!?!?!
I’ve seen it three or four times up to that point; of course we rent it.
We get back to my house at 10:30, or so.
“So, um, I heard this is a really long movie.”
“It’s about three and a half hours. Can you stay awake?”
“Yeah. I need to tell my parents that I’ll be out late, though.”
***
“Yeah, Dad? I’m just going to stay the night with Danielle. Is that okay?”
She hangs up. She’s sleeping over.
We haven’t even had our first kiss and now we’re having a sleepover. It should be noted that we’re both virgins and have never done ANYTHING even remotely close to this during our time on this planet.
Secondly, her father is a Deacon at their church.
What are we doing???
Moe- Even though I know everything that's going to happen, the suspense is still killing me!!!
Lauren- I assume you're waiting for Moe to finish before you tell us all the story of how you crushed some high school kids hopes and dreams, or how distraught you were over some corny Emo kid...
Part Four
Labor Day Weekend – 1998
Frederick, MD
So, we’re watching “Titanic”. We last, I don’t know, six seconds before we start the make-out session. We pause only when we hear “Cheerio” from one of the members of the crew onboard the ship. This amused both of us. The make-out session ends just as the ship starts sinking.
And nothing else happened. We didn’t advance any further than we had with any previous boyfriend/girlfriend. We finished the movie and fell asleep. I must’ve woken up a dozen times that night and each time, my arm was around her. She never rolled to the other side of the bed.
We both awaken at about 10:00. My mother will probably be home within the next few hours and Kelly planned on having a Labor Day picnic with her parents shortly after noon. We talked about everything that happened (or didn't happen) and were relieved that the neither of us expected more. It was the perfect night.
Then, her pager vibrated.
“94373 273 968” – Where are you?
There was no code behind it to indicate who sent the message. My code was 13, hers 53. Obviously neither of us sent the message, but there wasn’t a 24 (Danielle), either. Danielle’s the only other person that would text Kelly.
Kelly calls Danielle from my house phone (we didn’t have our own cell phones in 1998). Danielle says it wasn’t her. Kelly calls her father, just to check in.
“Hey dad, what’s up?” “With Danielle, why?” “What do you mean?” “Oh.” “I’m sorry. You said, Baker Park? I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
Her father had paged her. He wanted to know where she was. When she called him, he questioned her whereabouts. She said she was with Danielle. He asked her why her car was parked in front of my house.
She didn’t understand how he could have possibly known that her car was parked in my driveway.
Kelly’s mother and father decided to drive twenty minutes from their house to Frederick to have a nice bike ride through town. On their journey, they rode their bikes past my house, en route to Baker Park. Baker Park was maybe a four minute drive, ten minute bike ride from my house. What were they doing on MY street? On a Monday morning? Labor Day Monday?
They could’ve ridden their bikes anywhere. Hell, they lived no less than five minutes from Lake Linganore, the perfect terrain for a nature ride. But they decided to ride on my street, ten minutes from the park, and twenty minutes from their own home?
What’s the catch?
Part Five
Labor Day – 1998
Frederick, MD
Kelly caught up with her parents at Baker Park. They packed up their bikes and drove home. Kelly followed.
I must’ve paged her fifty times over the next few hours. I never received a response. I go to school on Tuesday, the day after Labor Day. I still haven’t heard from Kelly. After school, I page her again. Not five minutes later, my step-father is calling me from downstairs. He says there’s girl in the driveway waiting for me.
It’s Kelly.
She’s wearing sunglasses; it’s not sunny. We sit on the bench in my backyard. She’s bawling. She can barely talk. I’m a mess, too. I don’t know why she’s crying, but, I do.
She starts talking, then stops. Starts. Stops. Finally, we just hold hands while sitting next to each other. Another minute or two goes by and she’s able to spit it out.
“I can’t talk to you anymore. My dad isn’t talking to me. My mother is really upset, too. She believes nothing happened, but she’s really disappointed. She never thought I’d do anything like this. They feel betrayed.”
“Can I call them? What if I went home with you to talk to them? What can I do to show them I’m not a terrible person?”
I’ve only briefly spoken to her father before Labor Day. Her mother and I have made small-talk on the phone. I’ve never met either of them.
“No. They’re just really upset. There’s nothing you can do right now. I have to work it out. I’m so sorry.”
Finally, a tear rolls down my cheek.
“Me, too. Can I call you?”
“You better not. I’ll call you when it’s the right time.”
She leaves. Over the next week or so, I continue to page her. She even drops off a package for me. It’s the Lauryn Hill CD that I’ve been thinking about. In it is a note that simply says, “Everything will be okay.”
No. No it isn’t.
About a month passes and she’s hardly paging me at all. I finally call her house and her father answers. I address him as Mr. “Donaldson” and ask if I can speak to Kelly. He asks who’s calling and hands the phone to her. We talk, maybe for two or three minutes, one last time. I don’t remember what was said. It went so fast. I only remember that it was our final conversation.
Ever.
Oooh...big mistake there, leaving the car out front. On those rare occasions when I had the house to myself when I was 16, I'd make my boyfriend park in the adjacent neighborhood and walk through the woods to come see me. Looking back, I'm lucky none of the neighbors called my parents to tell them there was a prowler!
My break up stories aren't as poetic. When my boyfriend of six years cheated and then dumped me, I went insane. I was still sweet and innocent enough to think that staying with your high school sweetheart forever was a good idea. For a couple months I was in a fog, stopped eating, and was basically a zombie. Then I woke up, bought a horse, moved in with some fantastic roommates, and turned around and had the greatest year of my life. Oh, and met Mike So Def :)
PS - Joel, since nobody has given you any break up songs. I just want to point out that when you've just been dumped, EVERY song is a break up song. You'll be driving along and start sobbing hysterically because George Michael* wrote a song that EXACTLY describes your feelings!
*Boo hoo! It WOULD be nice if I could touch your body! Waaaaah!
Song: Drops of Jupiter by Train
When I was 20, I met this guy after dropping a ton of weight. It was one of the few times in my life I felt "hot." That was probably the only reason I accepted the invite to go out.
We went out to dinner and then came back to my house and hung out all night. Shortly after, he was calling me his girlfriend and teling me he loved me. I was really naive so I believed it all, even though I didn't love him.
Once, when we went out on a date, he pulled out a wedding ring from his cup holder and gave me this story about his friend giving it to him because he'd help her move after leaving her husband. I was really dumb and believed the story.
A couple weeks later, a woman called my house looking for him and left a message on my answering machine. She said it was his wife. When I told him, he said that it was his ex-wife (who he had previously told me about) and that she was nuts.
I stuck around like a dummy. Then, she called me at work to ask about him. Apparently, he had disappeared. But he'd also disappeared from my life too. He hadn't called or visited for a couple weeks. The last time I saw him, he'd asked to borrow money.
My oldest sister made fun of me calling me "the adulterer." I never did hear from him again, but it was better that way. It's sort of embarrassing to admit how naive I was.
La Brown Girl-
I had a cousin that went through a "Drops of Jupiter" phase after getting dumped by her fiance... as for your story, yeah pretty naive, but in your defense you were 20.
Man... there's too many to discuss! Maybe I'll get around to it.
As for the breakup song I love, "Ex-Factor."
i've had a broken heart but can't really say i've been dumped. but in all fairness i got stood up on dates a couple of times and that just made me spiteful and somewhat relieved because i always hated the formalness of 'dates'.
this one is depressing (and you may be familiar with it) but here goes...back when i was sixteen i developed a crush on my cousin's best friend and to my complete annoyance my cousin's other friend developed a crush on me. this crush of mine lasted about a year and i even took this young man to my junior homecoming--we slow danced to 'i can't help falling in love' by UB40. i cried myself to sleep when someone told him how much i liked him (against my will) and that he responded that it could never be because his friend liked me and he was like three years older than me. we continued to be 'friends' and i would see him on occassion. all my school notebooks that year had 'i *heart* HIM' doodled all over them. i was too scared to be humiliated a second time to doodle his actual name. in group dates with my cousin and their friends we went bowling, to concerts, to the movies or out to eat. we talked but there was crazy awkwardness between us--he did compliment me on my hair--a light auburn bob at the time and my black fingernail polish. we even talked on the phone once and i discovered we both liked to keep our prized cd collections in alpha order (i know high geek factor)--that phone call was cut short due to my loser brother's commentary in the background (he really wanted to use the phone and figured he embarrass me into hanging up). then this one summer morning a common friend called me to go for a morning run. i didn't know that my crush guy would be coming along too. i was trying to tell myself i was getting over him and i hadn't seen him for a big part of the summer...after our run we just walked with our not-out-of-the-closet-yet friend as a buffer between us. then i stopped because a canary appeared on the running path ahead of us and i pointed it out. he said he would catch it for me to take home. i couldn't take the bird because i had a cat but i would later kick myself for talking him out of catching the canary. you see, he was shot two weeks later and died within the month. that was one heartbreak that was hard to get over. with the exception of my prom date (whom i didn't even kiss--on prom night!) i didn't date anyone for about three years after that.
do cd's count? if so disintegration by the cure--the complete cd on replay, more specifically track 12, untitled.
chancla- I've been meaning to respond to your comment for a while, but to be honest, I don't know where to begin... You've alluded to this incident before in the past but never laid out the whole story, at least not in anything I've read.
I'm sorry that happend. I wish I had something of more substance to say. I'm glad you shared with us though. It certainly puts what real heartbreak is into perspective.
ha!
i inhaled that post
great read joel.
were you telling fibs about that last breakup song?
You Don't Have to Say You Love Me" - Dusty Springfield
because officially
in some rule book
somewhere
that is a girlie breakup song.
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