The heartbreak that started it all

Recently I spoke with an ex-girlfriend who asked me why I had treated her the way I did when we were dating. I should clarify I never beat her, or gaslit her, I just wasn’t as present as I should have been, and I was probably way more casual about our relationship than she deserved. I admitted that a big part of that was my insecurities around my fear that at some point she’d figure she wanted someone more attractive than me, or richer than me, or just someone better than me in some regard.

She asked me why I would think that when she never gave me that impression. I had to agree and then I reflected on the motivators for those emotions, tracing them back to their roots. I examined a long list of failed relationships and tales of woe. The further I went back, the more I found relationships that were doomed or had red flags from the beginning.

Finally, on my reverse journey of heartbreak, I found myself thinking about Brooke.

She came to my school for the last two years of high school. Her Dad was in the Air Force, so she’d moved around a fair bit in her life. From the first time I saw her, I was smitten. She had dark hair and rosy cheeks.

Brooke was smart, she was funny, and she was stunning. We liked the same movies, both focussed on our studies over sport, we didn’t like the same music, but you’ve got to have some differences, right?

I would partner with her on school group projects, which allowed me the opportunity to go around her house to work on them. I was a shy, introverted little guy who certainly wasn’t one of the sporty jocks or muscle-bound kids that hit puberty early. I had never kissed a girl and my confidence in that regard was low.

But Brooke seemed kind, and friendly, and being around her always made me feel special. We had some friends in common. One of her other male friends, I wasn’t that keen on, but again, differences are what make people more interesting.

In our final year of high school, we worked on a project together. I would go to her house, work on the project then watch one of our favorite movies (Young Guns, The Untouchables, or The Lost Boys) until it was time for my parents to pick me up. Despite all the time we spent together, I never knew if she liked me, but I certainly carried a torch for her.

As graduation drew near, I had to figure out how to ask her if she’d go with me. I finally plucked up the courage and she said yes. Having watched enough John Hughes’ films I knew the importance of things like color coordination and the probability that we would hook up that night. Her chosen color was electric blue, so I made sure I ordered a cummerbund and bow tie to match. I wanted the night to be memorable, so I booked a limo and arranged to have a room at the venue where the graduation was being held (our school was too small to have a hall large enough to host a decent graduation on-site).

When the night arrived, the limo picked me up and then went to her house. She looked even more stunning than any other day I’d seen her. As I slipped the corsage on her wrist, I trembled as I touched her hand. I was nervous beyond words, but equally living on cloud nine.

We got to the venue and from there it all started to change. She barely spent any time with me and was hanging out with other people. I tried to encourage her to dance with me, but she was not interested.

Later that night one of my friends came to me and said that they’d challenged Brooke about why she wasn’t spending any time with me when I was her date. She responded that she’d agreed to go with me because she knew I’d pay for the limo, but she had no interest in me beyond that.

If you’ve seen that episode of the Simpsons where Lisa breaks Ralph Wiggum’s heart a the Krusty special, my reaction was kind of like that. I tried to ask her if it was true, but she brushed me off and wouldn’t talk about it.

The night ended, with me dejected and sad. My confidence was destroyed, and I didn’t know what to believe. School finished, Brooke moved away, and I never heard from her again. I don’t know what happened to her. In this age of social media, I’ve never seen any posts or mutual friends of hers. But the aftershock of that night lives on.

For years I figured that it was better to just wait for someone to tell me that they liked me or have them ask me out, or make the first move than risk any more rejection. I guarded my heart, to my detriment for a long time.

Part of me wants to do the forgive-and-forget thing. Another part wants to be John Cusack in High Fidelity and re-visit with her the why? I know that nothing that can be said will change the 35 years since. Eventually, I needed to build my self-confidence in myself, not someone else, that was a long journey.

I don’t want to write a sad country song about Brooke the heartbreaker, we were teenagers, filled with all of our issues and insecurities. For all I know, things were going on in her life that I knew nothing about. I just carried my demons for a long time because of one person. A part of me wonders if she has ever carried any of her own.