My first college boyfriend, if you can call him that, one evening showed up beneath my apartment window playing the accordion and singing.
We had a very immature relationship, based off of 18 year old desires and 18 year old expectations. We fought, about silly things, but I also mooned over him. Unfortunately for me the mooning overtook reason and I didn’t see the manipulative power that one person in a relationship has (if they choose to abuse it) over the other.
We rarely left my one room apartment. We would read, study, watch tv, talk, laugh. He would play his guitar, write music. I would work on this or that. I went to his place once in the months we had being seeing each other and I learned that I was for him, a challenge. I wasn’t a prude, I knew things, I grew up with boys, I understood the basics of perverted conversation. What I didn’t realize what that when an 18 year old girl, inept at flirting, with loud and boisterous tones, declares that she’d rather wait for a mature relationship to have sex, some thrill seekers take advantage.
The virgin. You know what creature in fiction and fable seeks out the virgin? The dragon. Mythology declares, as far back as dragons can be traced, the myth has the hero & dragon battle. A symbol for the fight to redeem femininity in society. The dragon’s main goal to stockpile the treasure hard to attain, also known as virginity.
The vulnerable enchanting woman guarded and captured by a menacing monster, and the hero’s task to rescue her, marry her and establish his kingdom with her. Except that there was no conquering hero on a gallant white steed, instead there was the realization and the break-up. It really wasn’t even a break up, just a fight and him moving onto different pastures. Which to this day may have been his haunt while we had my first “romance”. (Still iffy on whether he was juggling a girl while he and I had been seeing each other)
I realized that he was not a dragon, he was just a cocky on the outside, insecure on the inside college guy. Smart enough, witty enough, individual enough to catch my gaze, also magnificently attractive with a “devilish” good-look about him. And I, Miss. Making-up-for-high-school’s-social-leprosy, was lively and entertaining and soon knew more people than I could count, and I’d imagine most of them had heard through the grapevines of my chastity.
He ended up moving on to a girl who was a little less chaste. I ended up changing the group of friends that had brought him into my life, and they really didn’t seem to mind. I ended up realizing a very important thing: I am the hero of my life, and I don’t need to be saved by something I am supposed to expect. Doesn’t the virgin ever get sick of the possessive and vain dragon? Why doesn’t she do some slaying herself and take some of that stockpiled treasure and do her thing? (Yes, Disney movies are improving this stereotype, I love Mulan.)
He’s not a bad guy, he’s a musician in a band that gets minimal fanfare. He put on some weight, he dated around, ended dropping out our sophomore year. He called me over the summer, said he saw me and that I looked good, that I seemed to have changed, be more confident, more relaxed in my skin. Wondered if I was his friend, even after all the bad. I told him we were. He still invites me to shows and parties. He lives about an hour and a half away. I always decline.
It’s not as though he brings nothing into my life right now, I don’t wish to sound harsh. It’s that he brought what he needed to bring, and now we are on separate paths that are not, in my mind, going to cross again.
But I will always remember the giddy and flushed feeling I had when he showed up playing the accordion and singing, and I will remember fondly the lesson I learned without losing other than time.