Save Your Tears

He used to wait for me every morning after chemistry class my sophomore year. Until one day...he didn’t. At first, I thought it was a fluke. It was first period, so maybe he was just late. Or, maybe he got sick and was absent from school altogether. But surely, there must be some logical explanation. Either way, he wasn’t there.

I came up with lots of ideas and excuses in my head, none of which were correct. Never in my wildest teenage dreams did I expect to see him after second hour, walking hand in hand with her. I wouldn’t call her a friend...an acquaintance rather. But what he was doing with her, I had no idea! I was completely blindsided. I don’t remember if I made eye contact with either one of them, but I do recall wanting to run as far away as possible and never come back.

The rest of the day was kind of a blur. I couldn’t concentrate and didn’t want to be there. All I wanted to do was go home. It felt like the longest day of my life. When the final bell rang, I walked home...alone. A walk we normally would have taken together. As I crossed the train tracks, I looked over my shoulder, hoping to see him running to catch up to me...yet knowing he wasn’t there and never would be again.

When I arrived home I locked my bedroom door and threw myself down on my bed. I had held it in long enough and there was no stopping the tears now. They flowed freely and endlessly, soaking my pillow.

My mom knocked on my door multiple times and every time I told her to go away. I didn’t want to talk about it. I kept playing the scene in my head over and over again. Seeing him with her...the way they were smiling and laughing. What did she have that I didn’t? Did he think she was prettier? Smarter? More fun? I wanted to throw up thinking about it.

I hated the way it ended. With no explanation, no resolution whatsoever. I tend to live by the whole “honesty is the best policy” mentality...as opposed to the “let’s just ignore her and hope she goes away” one. Like dude, I get it. You’re just not into me anymore. But could you let this poor, innocent girl in on your little secret? I would like to think that I’m a mind reader at times, but apparently my young, teenage self did not pick up on whatever subtle or not so subtle hints that were there…

I get it. I was only 15. But he was my so-called boyfriend for two years. You would think that I deserved at least a goodbye. So long, farewell...call it what you want. But please, for the love of all that is holy, call it something!

My mom knocked again. You had to admire the woman’s persistence. I finally broke down and unlocked the door. I must have looked like absolute hell. I’m not a good crier...I am a puffy faced, Rudolph-nosed one whose eyelids swell until I can barely see anymore. Between that and my pounding head, I looked and felt like a miserable being. I tried to explain what had happened, but I was a blubbering fool. In between sobs, I told her the short version of what had transpired at school that day.

I kept going on and on about how perfect he was. In my eyes, he could do no wrong. He could honestly do everything. Boyish good looks, with his blonde hair and killer smile, state champion wrestler, smart...I mean, hell...he could play the piano and the trombone! And the fun we had together...sneaking out (I’m sure I left that part out), riding in his old, red, 1954 Willy’s Jeep. An all around “perfect” guy with no flaws whatsoever.

She didn’t interrupt me and listened to the end. What she said in that moment, has stuck with me to this very day. “If he is so perfect, then why did he do this to you? If he is responsible for this heartache, then he isn’t perfect at all.” It took me a moment to process, but she wasn’t wrong. “Perfect” is not a word to describe someone so cruel and unkind. What he did was gutless...and heartless. Someone so ideal would not cause this kind of pain.

Through my slits for eyes, I hadn’t noticed the small white plate she had set on my nightstand. She pushed it towards me. No more words were necessary. Chocolate fixes everything. Okay, maybe not everything, but it can fix a lot. No use in crying over an innocent piece of homemade chocolate cake...with mom’s rich chocolate frosting on top and rainbow sprinkles. The cake did nothing to anyone...and it definitely should not be wasted. Not over him.

I learned two important lessons that day. First, my mom was right, he wasn’t perfect. Not for me and most certainly not worth my tears. And second, chocolate always makes you feel better. Maybe not forever, but at least in the moment.