Tears for…Nothing

It didn’t take long before I found the boyfriend to be less than he was cracked up to be.

In a foreshadowing of a life where I had ridiculously high expectations, I got annoyed at every little thing my lanky boyfriend did. When he called, I was annoyed that he would interrupt whatever it was I was doing. When he didn’t call, I was upset that I hadn’t heard from him. I was less than impressed with the paper and pencil letters I received from him (remember this was in the days before email and cell phones, so living twenty miles from your boyfriend was a long distance relationship when neither of you had access to a car).

Poor Jeff was a good person who was trying hard to be what I thought I wanted, but I was more interested in the idea of having a boyfriend than the actual boyfriend I’d finally ended up with. There was no compelling feeling of “Oh, I have to talk to him” or “I have to see him” at all.

And so, on the night of the Tears for Fears concert later that fall, in the backseat of my friend Andrea’s father’s car, I broke up with my first boyfriend.

I never did learn to like that group very much, either.


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