STILL STANDING. M.G. Crisci
enjoyed our time together like nothing ever happened.
He even gave me a pair of earrings as a Christmas present. I’d felt sick opening them. They were gold knot studs – timeless classics, but I found them old fashioned. Maybe he didn’t know me at all?
A few days later, into the New Year, I broke his heart. We were tucked away in a bar, Will was his confident self, I’d painted on a smile, but underneath I was a quivering wreck with clammy hands.
I grew some balls and told him to his face, “I’m sorry Will, I can’t do this anymore. The long distance just isn’t working.” I barely saw him anymore because of his job and told him that we should go our separate ways. He cried, so did I.
Mum and Dad were gutted. They loved Will; he had been part of our family for years. I suppose they felt they’d lost a future son-in-law. “Are you sure you’ve made the right decision?” Mum quizzed.
“I don’t know,” I answered sheepishly. I never confided about the hair. I didn’t want Mum to think badly of Will—she loved him.
I believe, if circumstances had been different, and I might have gone to Cardiff, we would have married one day.
It’s also entirely possible that Will and I were just not meant to be.
7.
CRAZY JACK
“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”
― Rumi
2000…
Just when my heart had been broken, along came crazy Jack to liven up my life at university.
For some reason, finding that next to perfect guy has never been a problem with me. My girlfriends tease and say that I have a certain charismatic charm that attracts both nice guys and weirdos, but sometimes I have trouble distinguishing between the two.
Most men I’ve met would probably describe me a bit differently. They would say I have ‘’come-to-bed eyes.” I find that troubling since it sounds tawdry and cheap, but apparently, that vibe is one of my demons.
In all honesty, I’m neither promiscuous nor am I a one-night stand. I want to be loved in the right way by the right man.
~
As Will became a distant memory, I decided it was time to move on and have a few girls’ nights out. University nights were meant to be filled with laughter and dancing, and I was good at both.
During one of those evenings, I ran into a handsome guy called Jack, who had gelled black hair, at The Beach nightclub in Southampton. He oozed fun, busted some crazy moves on the dance floor, and, like me, loved to laugh. In other words, he ticked all my boxes.
We met a few times, danced up a storm to Garage music, and kissed passionately. Jack wasn’t a student, he was an unpolished “townie” (non-student) who wanted to live the life I was living, so I welcomed him into my circle.
I trusted him; he always had my back. We had a lot of fun together, but I knew as time progressed that we could never be anything serious. He was too much of a clown and quite reckless.
I remember the day my housemates and I decided to bake a hash cake. Jack said he’d acquire the cannabis, so we all chipped in. We had to try it once in our lives. By the time we finished baking, we had this sticky green sugar-laden pound cake.
“Looks a little weird,” said Jack. “Better let me taste it first.” And, so, he did. “It tastes pretty good!” smiled Jack, surprised. We all then devoured the whole thing. We didn’t realize we had put about four times too much cannabis into the mix. Everyone began to freak out, since we were completely stoned and passed out.
When we woke 24 hours later, I realized I had missed one of my end of term finals. I came up with a creative excuse for my teacher, said I’d been sick with a stomach bug. Otherwise, I would be in big trouble with my parents. Jack thought the whole thing was just hilarious since he had no such concerns.
~
Despite that crazy night, I brought Jack home to meet my parents. They liked him. Mum found him humorous because of his crazy ways.
Just months into our relationship, over a candlelit dinner on Valentine’s Day, Jack stunned me.
“Will you marry me?” he asked, on bended knee.
My face was aflame, heat rising from my cheeks as strangers’ eyes pried into our moment, awaiting an answer.
“Yes,” I stammered.
I hardly knew him and said “yes” for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t want to ruin the night and disappoint the onlookers, who roared with excitement. Everyone adores a love story with a happy ending.
Jack didn’t even have a ring; he was so unprepared. It was nothing like the proposal scenes in the movies. It was a huge let-down. A little voice in my head whispered, “Jack is not Mr. Right,” but I ignored it. Perhaps I just wanted to live the fairy tale for a while.
A few days later, Jack took me shopping for my ring at a local jewelry store. I chose an emerald and diamond cluster. Jack smiled and nodded his approval.
In retrospect, it was wrong of me to say yes. But I rationalized my decision: Jack was adopted after his mum had left him at an orphanage; he wanted a new life with the right wife and the right family.
The more I tried to make things work, the more convinced I became that he was not the man of my dreams. Quite the reverse: he started to take advantage of me—staying over in my halls and expecting me to buy the food and cook for him every night. I felt like his mum. Despite the signals, I remained in the relationship far beyond logic.
Weeks later, matters went from bad to worse, as Jack’s true colors were revealed. I had introduced my friend Mary’s boyfriend, Paul, to Jack. Somehow, the slick-talking Jack managed to borrow £300 from Paul to buy a stupid, big-kid, remote-control car.
Jack was supposedly going to repay Paul out of his work earnings. Nothing happened for weeks, so Paul asked when he would start to see his money. Jack laughed and flat-out refused to repay him.
I felt guilt-ridden about the terrible turn of events since I was the reason Paul had lost a considerable sum of money. “You’re such a jerk, Jack, you should pay your debts! You’ve put me in an awkward, embarrassing position.” He just laughed in my face.
I was now certain. I had made another “man-mistake.” It was also starting to occur to me; why did I have so much trouble picking Mr. Right? Did I own an aberrant DNA gene? Did I have a broken boyfriend sensor? So, once again, ending the relationship fell on my fragile, increasingly insecure, shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Jack, it’s over. You cannot treat my friends like that.”
Jack neither protested nor even asked for the ring back.
When I told Mum and Dad what had happened, they weren’t even surprised. Mum just said, “Another man with a broken heart.” Then we struck a deal. I swapped Jack’s emerald and diamond ring with Mum for a pair of new boots. Funny thing, Mum still wears the ring to this day!
~
I rationalized Bad Jack; he was merely another bad choice. I kept telling myself I would know when the right man came along. I was too young to concern myself about such matters. This was my time to be carefree.
In other words, I lied to myself. Again.
8.
A BLACK WIDOW
“Cry. Forgive. Learn. Move on. Let your tears water the seeds of your future happiness.”
― Steve Maraboli
2001…
I wondered—despite my wholesome, girl-next-door appearance, was I a Black Widow in disguise?
Someone