When I was sixteen, my high school sweetheart broke my heart. We only dated for a few months, but I was distraught when I broke up with him for being incredibly neglectful and friend-centered, as many seventeen-year-old boys will be (No, ladies, Edward was not really 17, he was actually 106, remember?).
Anyway, I’ll never forget calling my best friend Kerry and sobbing over the loss. I had turned on the radio to cheer myself up (a post-breakup mistake I never made again) and what was playing? I’ll Never Break Your Heart by The Backstreet Boys — his favorite band. Yes, I am aware that it is incredibly effeminate for a guy to love The Backstreet Boys and, no, the fact that he spent more time with his guy best friend than me didn’t escape me when we broke up, but anyway…the point was just how sad and ironic the song was at the time.
“I wanted to marry him. I need him back,” I cried for days on end. My godmother gave me this advice: “Jen, I hear you; I really do. But do me a favor – one favor. Go out with just one other boy before you get back together with this one. See how it goes. Then, if you still want to, get back with him. Okay?” I agreed, but really just wanted him. He was my first real boyfriend, my first kiss, and the first boy to ever pay any real attention to me, truly boosting my self-esteem. Now, not only did I feel the loneliness I had before meeting him, but it was ten times more heartbreaking bexause I knew what it felt like to “love” someone, be “loved,” and lose it all (Isn’t puppy love grand?)
I wallowed in self-pity for two horrible and mournful weeks, until my friends simply couldn’t take it anymore.
“You look like death. We’re going out tonight, and Steve is bringing one of his friends along. Maybe you guys will hit it off,” Kerry said to me as she rummaged through my closet for something non-pajama-ish for me to wear.
I whined and moaned the entire car ride, and then some more when he sat at the table in our local kareoke restaurant. “I miss Louis, I miss Louis, I miss…who is that?”
My jaw dropped a little when this tall, dark, and scrumptious guy walked through the door and straight at our table.
I forgot to cry and was trying to remember how to breathe when the super hottie gave my friend, Steve, a pound and sat in the only empty seat. He then said, “Hi, I’m Sal” (fake name), smiled his perfectly straight and white smile, and gave a little wave to the table.
The lust coming from all the girls at the table was palpable. The four of us sat there, staring at him blindly, until Steve said all of our names, snapping each of us, one by one, back to reality. I physically could not get over just how much better looking this guy was than my previous crush.
We wittily bantered back and forth all night, until finally deciding to sing a Beatles song together (I Wanna Hold Your Hand), because we’re both huge fans.
At the end of the night, he got my number and I skipped and swooned all the way home.
When we got to my house, Kerry smiled and said, “You seem to have gotten over Louis pretty quickly.”
“Who?” I asked, and dreamily closed the car door.
Have you ever had a broken heart over puppy love, only to quickly fall into lust with an insanely hot guy way better than the first a few weeks later?