Broken Hearts and Hope

Well, ladies and gentlemen, in the halls of your local high school it has begun.  The subtle hand-holding despite the rules against PDA; the kisses snuck in the parking lot or near the stadium before the game; the too long telephone calls and too many text messages.  I had my first “I can’t live without him” discussion with one of my students early last week.  I told her that in fact, despite what she thinks, she can, indeed live without him and live well at that.  Those of you who know me, know that I have had my share of this sort of thing: being the dumpee and also being the counselor to the dumpees (both male and female).  High school can be cruel in the area of relationships, but so can life. 

One can make arguments for never letting one’s children date.  I had a rule:  you must be sixteen and able to drive.  Reasons?  I don’t drive people on dates.  And sixteen is a good arbitrary number.  And I’m the Mom.  Eldest son never fussed about this rule.  As the eldest, he accepted his fate at the object of parenting experiments, and, anyway, he was always happier with a book or LOTR marathon.  Middle son insisted he had a girlfriend in middle school.  He was wrong.  He argued.  I won.  Youngest son thinks he has had a girlfriend since kindergarten.  He is also wrong.  I will win. 

Still, whenever the New Year starts, I think it is natural to want to have that special someone to share it with.  To go to dances with.  To hold hands in the hallway with.  And, those of us single adults want the adult equivalents.  Our school has various events throughout the year, and we must RSVP for ourselves and our guest.  I always RSVP with a grin, “I’m coming, and maybe, if the planets align, I will bring someone.”  I go alone or with my dear friends. I do think that the events coordinator would fall over in a fit if I ever showed up with a “someone.”

All of these football, homecoming dance, and relationship ponderings of my students reminded me of a sketch I wrote at one of the summer writing sessions.  I offer it here for your consideration.  And, I hope that no matter what your relationship status that you are well loved and thoughtfully cared for.

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Tears.  Mutterings and awkward hand holding.  He is clearly breaking up with her.  She is the kind of girl boys break up with.  Especially when the boys in question are 20 and shallow and lack forethought.  Her hair is not brown neither blonde nor red – an indeterminate color and her eyes are pale and washed with the pain of never yet being the dumper – always the dumpee.  It is not a fun place to be for her.  In fairness, he is not comfortable, either.  Trying to stroke her hand and bring comfort to a place he just made ultimately uncomfortable.  Did she give her virginity to him?  He to her?  Has he realized that she is too self-centered or too controlling or too interested in marriage?  Maybe she realized those same things about him long ago and chose to overlook them in favor of being with someone rather than being alone.  She looks away, wipes her eyes, willing the tears to flow or to stop.  He looks at the ground, shifts restlessly, and glances at his phone, checking the time or the text message that he would really like to get but hasn’t yet.

We have all been there.  We have begged someone whom we knew not to be the right person to stay with us.  Why?  Because being with someone – even a sub-par someone is better than being alone.  In this culture of couples – it is hard to have the resolve to be alone.  Alone.  Not lonely.  Just alone.  There’s a difference.  I was dumped at 20 – at 17, too.  And, again at 23.  I’m sure there are other times – we all can mark a few of them.  We shed the tears or we created the tears.  Or a little of both.  We have been uncomfortably waiting for the text that never comes.  We have gone home to our dog, our childhood blanket, and a pint of Rocky Road.  We have drunk one too many shots of whiskey and almost called.  Or we did call.  Or we texted.  And it wasn’t good. 

About two months ago I got a call from one of those sweepstakes things you fill out at the annual home and garden show.  The kind where you get a 4 night-5 day stay somewhere fabulous as long as you agree to hear the sales pitch and fill out some questionnaires.  They are good deals, if you have no money to invest or the willpower to say “No, thanks.”  After a few preliminary questions, the gentleman with a lisp on the other end of the line asked me who I might bring with me on such an excursion.  I said, “Hmm. Maybe my son.”  He then proceeded to ask me if I were married, if I lived with someone, or if I had a partner.  No. No. No.  He said this offer was only for those in relationships. He promised to call back with a different promotion for singles.  I don’t expect to hear from him.

In a culture that smacks of marriage-worship, it can be hard to be alone.   And, when you’re young and you haven’t yet had your first job, bought your first house, or had your first child, and you’re ever so slightly afraid of really living by yourself, it’s even harder to be singular.  I sympathize with that girl – even if she knew he was all wrong for her.  And I sympathize with that boy – even if he had a new girl lined up.  This isn’t the last time they will be alone, but my hope is that they can embrace the peace that is found in solitude in order to find the meaning that can be in a relationship.