You remember your first girlfriend or boyfriend. The one that was going to last forever. The one that made you stop eating – which is very difficult in my case. The one that makes every romantic song on the air seem like it’s talking to you. The one that you think is The One.
Although you can have a girlfriend as early as the fifth grade, the first real one usually occurs when you’re in your mid-teens. Ofttimes, it happens in tandem with getting your driver’s license. That’s because a car gives your love life newfound freedom – face it, making out in a living room had some inherent dangers.
I really didn’t have a steady in high school; I dated around. That meant that my first girlfriend was later in coming. It happened when Eric, one of my high school buddies, set me up with his next-door neighbor, Jean. She was cute, cool and I was charmed by her subtle sense of humor. I soon learned that Jean had some strings attached. She had just finished an on-again, off-again relationship with a boyfriend who, according to Eric, treated her badly. Maybe I was set up with her because I was kind of a palette cleanser. I made sure to treat her well, and we did get along – had a good time. My attraction for her grew.
During this time, my mother noticed that I was eating a lot less than normal. It didn’t take her long to figure out why. “I know what it is,” she finally said. “You’re not eating because you’re full of that little girl.” I suggested to mom she was full of something else, but deep inside I knew she was right. Curse mother’s intuition.
Looking back at the situation, it was obvious that, one, I liked Jean more than she liked me and, two, she was still talking to her old boyfriend. I guess she was attracted to the bad boys. Slowly, I began to get the feeling that I was becoming the acute angle in a love triangle. And soon I would find out how right I was.
A few weeks later when we went out, Jean seemed unusually quiet, and dare I say it, distant? My intuition was correct, because when we pulled in her driveway and stopped the car, she dropped the bomb on me.
“I don’t think we need to see each other for a while,” she said quietly. It was a hard punch to the gut.
I didn’t ask why. I knew. After all, I was the acute angle.
“When, like never?” I asked weakly.
“I don’t know,” she replied. I really don’t think she did. Maybe if things didn’t work out with her ex, I would be considered for the consolation prize. As hurt as I was, I had too much pride to accept that.
How do you end a conversation when you’ve been dumped like a bag of garbage? Good luck? I wish you the best? I hope things work out for you? No! I wanted her to be miserable without me. I didn’t even put up a fight, and I probably should have. But this was my first breakup, so I just replied meekly, “Ok.” I didn’t even walk her to the front door. She got out of the car, and I backed out of the driveway quite deliberately, fighting the urge to burn the tires in front of her house. Instead, I left slowly because I knew I would never go back there again.
At least Jean had the guts to do it face to face. In time, I came to respect that. And mercifully, she didn’t give me the ol’ “let’s be friends” line. By the way, I think that’s the first breakup line girls learn. When I began dating in high school, I went out with a girl on Saturday, and the following Monday I received a note from her saying she wanted to “just be friends.” That was fine by me because I hadn’t planned to ask her out again.
The next few post-dump weeks were especially bad. No one to pick up the phone and talk to. No weekend date. Fighting the urge to drive by her house. And it seemed that every song I heard on the radio was about breaking up, and how hearts were destroyed by the loss of someone. “I Wish It Would Rain” by the Temptations was especially bad. I soon learned it was best to change stations if The Four Tops or The Temptations were on the air. “Just My Imagination” was a favorite of hers.
It was one of the highest highs and lowest lows of my young life. The first breakup taught me that not everything is going to be green grass and sunshine. The world is full of hurts. You also learn that the world keeps turning, and you have to continue moving forward. In time, your appetite will return.
Over a half century later, hearing “Just My Imagination” still makes me think about Jean. But I don’t change the channel now. Instead, I smile at the memories. Time has a way of doing that.
Joe Hobby is a barbecue-loving comedian from Alabama who wrote for Jay Leno for many years. Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog: https://mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com. Follow him on Facebook at Joe Hobby Comedian-Writer.
