To The Boy I Met On Spring Break


You had me. You really did.

I think the worst part is that it didn’t even occur to me that this would end poorly. We locked eyes through the crowd and you caught my hand like it was something precious. As pathetic as it sounds our two days together were really something extraordinary to me. Extraordinary and earth shattering.

God I’m such an idiot.

When I tell people the story of the “boy from spring break” I can see them in their minds trying to figure out what the big deal is. “So what? You made out with a guy on St. Patrick’s Day. My sister’s friend’s roommate made out with three, and that was before midnight.” The truth is, I don’t know why you meant so much to me. I got swept up in it all. Maybe I was intrigued by the idea of a lost weekend. Maybe I thought even if you were only going to be in town for two days those could be two days we think of fondly years from now. Or maybe I believed you when you said there was something different about me.

I wonder if that’s the line you fed your girlfriend when you met her.

You were charming. My god you were charming. I was so naive to think that it was fate I met you. You came out that night on the hunt. Maybe you were ordered to wear your full fireman’s uniform and march in the parade, but you went looking for a college girl sized good time all on your own. We talked for what seemed like hours. I literally felt weak in the knees the first time you kissed me. I went home that night giddy for the first time since the Jonas Brothers broke up.

The next day I spent restraining myself from texting you until finally the invite to hang out again came. Once again I found you in the crowd. Only this time I waited for over an hour for you to show up. I’m a slow learner apparently.

I regret telling my friends to leave without me. I told them I would be fine with you. You would make sure I got home. I told them I was safe with you. You remembered their names and faces. Ironically you warned them to be safe out and about on St. Patrick’s weekend. You told them you were a gentlemen. I regret drinking as much as I did. Between the hormones and whiskey I had a hard time standing without leaning on you, but maybe that was more hormones than anything. God I regret leaving with you.

Your flight left the next morning. I thankfully woke up in my own bed. I waited for the goodbye text, the it was cool to meet you text, the friend me on Facebook text, all of which never came. I couldn’t explain to anyone why I was so down.

You were just a boy that I met who whispered sweet things in my ear and left imprints on my lips.

Eventually my curiosity got to me. I had to know more about the guy who said all the right things at all the right times, but mama was right. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. The girl’s name next to “in a relationship with” answered all of them.

That’s why you didn’t introduce me to your friends. That’s why we didn’t exchange information. That’s why you went for me. Because apparently I’m as gullible as it gets. I went over it in my head time and time again. I’m not the cool girl from Savannah. I’m not the girl with the mesmerizing eyes. I’m the girl who you used for a good time. I’m just a throwaway companion. I bet you don’t even remember my name.

I think what upsets me the most is how disposable I was to you. This was the first time I found myself to be a character in a common tale of college woe. It especially hurts when you’re trying to mend a slightly bruised heart but all you can think is how did I become a cliche?

In the grand scheme of life you are about as significant as a yellow Starburst. I’ll use you as a tale of caution to my girlfriends and daughters. And as much as it kills me, I’ll never have the satisfaction of telling you off, back handing you across the face, or figuring out why you chose me to be the vehicle of your infidelity. Because for one, it shouldn’t matter to me as an evolved, emotionally stable human being, and two I’m not supposed to know your last name.