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Hidden Graves of Broken Virgins

There's levels to this shit called "desire"

By Jenny MeyaPublished 4 years ago 11 min read
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I’ll never forget Ms. Fitzpatrick’s facial expression when Romance asked her:

“But when do we get to learn more about...it? You know like...it?”

Sex education was not her topic and at the age of 12, I knew she had no interest in teaching 7th graders about sex. No interest in being detailed because how detailed would she have to be? Spewing enough information for us to have a general idea, but not too much information for us to go home and try it.

"Don’t try this at home kids," - were the words of her eyebrows...if they had lips. But Romance was ready. Ready to imagine. To fantasize. To dream a little dream. Ready to start counting the days until she’d turn 16. The age when you’re still not really supposed to engage in sexual activity, but it wasn’t uncommon to be sexually active.

MTV shows like 16 and pregnant, exploited the life of pregnant teenagers. And for what? For us to enjoy watching the trials and tribulations of teenage mothers? To understand the re-a-li-ty of teenage mothers? Maybe it was to make an example out of...teenage mothers. Clearly, their "Don’t do it," form of teaching didn’t work. Ancient fables assured us that the three little monkeys jumping on the bed did it for the freedom of fun. The freedom of being high above the bed. The freedom of rebelling against doing the “right thing” because even though it sounded right, it didn’t feel right to obey. And horny teenagers wanted to feel, and rebel.

Ms. Fitzpatrick was a pale woman. A large woman who had a habit of wearing black sweats with oversized plain coloured t-shirts — even in the winter. Every time she yelled, her rosy cheeks would enlarge, spreading throughout her entire face. She seemed a little nervous that day. In her eyes, we seemed too young and needed to be naïve teens just a little longer. Let things simmer down and become difficult later on in life. I on the other hand couldn’t stop smiling in silence. Romance had the questions, but I presented the mature demeanor. The soft spoken shy kids usually did. And they say it’s always the quiet ones that end up taking all the risks. Maybe to prove something. That we were more than just doormats. I wasn't always a doormat but for me, I knew I wanted to be in love before anything else. And that’s all I knew.

And yes Romance was her name. And I loved her name. It was different and she had a lot of personality and courage. She was smart and never became a teenage mother. Neither did I but...everyone predicted that.

* * *

Middle school was one thing. High school was another, and when I entered my senior year, I watched the life of my friend Ashton, literally live out the film Juno. That's what Jordan said. He would walk past me down the hallway whispering in my ear:

“Oh my God. It’s like our very own Juno. I love that movie!”

She hid it somewhat well. But we knew. Then she didn’t care and still graduated high school. Teenage mistakes created an ounce of complicated situations. Trouble followed Ashton throughout her high school days after her used-to-be one and only, became a deadbeat father. Prior to that, the monkeys wanted to jump high above the bed because remember it didn’t feel right to obey.

But she was loved by family and friends. So father or no father, it still took a village to raise her daughter. I hated him. I never trusted him and I remember writing him a letter explaining how awful he was to her. I mean he proposed to her with his ex-fiancé's ring. The ring didn’t even fit because duh it originally belonged to someone else. She was angry about it, but only demanded that he adjust the size for her. Yeah, adjust the size but don't change the ring. You should have seen my face. Think about the face you give someone who says something stupid. “Um earth to Ashton. Are you on something?” And why would someone propose in high school? I figured it was because it sounded nice. But proposing just because there’s a child involved is an outdated idea, and doesn't fix anything.

He tried. Then he failed. Then he tried again. He then tried to take her children away from her a year after high school. He was a broken boy who didn’t want to become a man after making a decision to engage in intercourse, while not thinking about the consequences. Bitch. He could freely walk away and be labeled as a deadbeat, but she was a 17 year old mother who had so much against her. She was a child who stepped into womanhood without fully understanding what that meant.

Opportunities became limited in her point of view, that she didn’t feel the need to apply to college. She wanted to endure raising her little girl without a father.

To know what it feels like to transition from a girl to a woman is complex. Even up until now I still don’t really know; I still haven’t really grasped it. Ashton wasn’t a proud woman. She was and is an honest one.

She became a woman quicker than I would have ever known, because I made a vow. It used to be about waiting until marriage. But even at 17 I didn’t get the gist of it. I didn’t care for it. I knew I didn’t need to marry a man thinking it would prove my love for him or my commitment. I wanted to wait because my body belonged to me. Especially since it was still being developed. And no one told me I had to. I never had a grandmother saying things like:

“Once you tarnish your vagina, it's tarnished for life.”

It was just my decision. My desire to be with someone who I can connect with spirituality, emotionally and physically. I was between girlhood and womanhood, but fully aware that sex was more than just a physical activity that I had to immerse myself in, just to add it on some imaginary list of firsts! It just meant more to me. And although I didn’t have the words, I knew whoever I would end up with would just...get it. I decided I was abstinent until I decided I was celibate.

***

Billie Jean wore a ring. The ring symbolized her vow of remaining abstinent until she decided to get married. However she dated a guy who toggled with her feelings. He didn’t want to be that guy, but I knew he never wanted to wait either. But she was strong and really in love or in like with him or whatever we could ‘be in’ in high school. I saw it on her face whenever she thought about him. I heard it in her laugh whenever she spoke about him. There was this light in her eyes and I could sense an aura around her. At the time I never saw colours, but I knew they were there.

I remember the day she told me it was over. She cried so much that it felt like her love affair with her fantasies would remain fantasies. Heartbreak is a bitch and I knew she’d meet with these broken feelings again. I hated this part of life. We still experience this part of life. Each time she smiled the way that she did for him, danger was right around the corner. Lurking. Waiting to whisper sweet nothings to her. She kept asking me why.

“If he wasn't that into me, why did he stick around?”

“Because you let him,” I told her. “You had your doubts, but you exchanged them for happiness.”

"I didn't know happiness could be so costly."

"If it's true happiness, it wouldn't cost you a dime. It wouldn't even cost you a penny."

To feel the beginning of a crush is a nice feeling. It’s like the vernal equinox. We're crossing the celestial equator for a change. It's a part of the cycle of life and these emotions are learning to adjust themselves. But the notion 'happy endings' is a thing.

As she continued to cry, I left her with words I hoped she'd always remember: Forgive the heartbreakers. They fell in love and mistook it as a weakness.

***

I don't know how but somehow word got around that I was also keeping my virginity. And those boys, the gross ones who were secretly offended that I wouldn't date any of them if they were literally the last people on earth, obviously thought I was "missing" out. I remember the ring leader saying:

“But what if the guy you get with isn't a virgin?” And his boys chuckled like I was the fool living in La La land. Like I believed in fairy tales. Like Cinderella was written for me. I grabbed my books and left the cafeteria. While walking towards my locker I thought about what he said. Meeting the man I wanted to be with not be a virgin. Honestly, I didn't care because that wasn't the freakin' point!

A person can have a million firsts and until the first is redefined to being the first one they truly fall in love with or whatever, then anything prior to that doesn't matter. Sex is a physical activity that's meant to be exciting and enjoyed. But you don't have to be emotionally attached to a person you're sleeping with, and you don't have to engage in something most people do, to live your life because you want to be emotionally attached to the person you’d be sleeping with! Try and understand that. Try and understand me.

***

There’s something about young love. I wouldn’t know. I spent most of my time in high school reading poetry or writing it. I used to look at them like time scriptures. Prayers even. I figured the more I read about them, the more likely these love stories would somehow come to life. I would somehow cement them into my reality. Because they weren’t just words from someone’s imagination. They came from someone’s experience. Someone’s words of wisdom strengthening romanticism with riveting dictions and phrases and I've fallen for it! It’s convinced me that I could manifest something just as beautiful. The truth is, I might be imprisoned into this notion of love and God, the editor in chief of life, may be the culprit.

There‘s these words in a song called: Ribbon In The Sky stating: “We can’t lose with God on our side,” well, for a person who felt like she lost, God seems pretty distant. I’m learning not to question it so much. As much as I am a believer, I am also very stubborn and have my doubts. I calculate them by adding what feels right, subtracting what doesn’t connect with me, and multiplying that times two- just to double my odds, because I too had a love affair with fantasies, time scriptures and prayers! But really, I’m fine.

I decided to change my attitude towards certain life experiences. Instead of believing that life’s not fair because this so-called prince charming didn’t exit in middle school, high school or college, I decided that it was because I am one of God’s most stubborn daughters who just isn’t allowed to alter the script.

**

It hasn’t changed much about the decisions I make about my body and how I protect my heart. Monogamy is a choice. It’s not the only choice and it’s not for everybody but it is a choice. Neither one of us can say what is right when it comes to what we want to do or who we want to be with. But to be fooled or manipulated into falling for something that isn’t what we thought it was going to be or what was promised to us, for the sake of pleasure or rebelling because the unknown is somewhat desirable, is insensitive. And those girls, those teenage mothers, the type of woman who refuses to lose and is tired of waiting for the man that will make love to her mind, feels broken. There's levels to this shit called desire. So young and so naïve, she’ll just end up burying her beliefs and herself. These hidden graves of broken virgins run deep. Deeper than the ocean, Deeper than the deep blue sea.

Celibacy is a thing. Just like the Christian values you claim to have, but dismiss them due to the normalcy of being tempted-which is still not a wrong way to live if you just...live honestly. I say this to the man of my dreams: I hope that you become tempted by my mind and soul as much as you are by a body, that won’t completely feed you like my mind.

literature
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About the Creator

Jenny Meya

I am an artist, a creative strategist and a storyteller. I am learning to live in my purpose by advocating for true authentic storytelling.

Instagram: @rationalrebel_

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