Luckystott

2004-06-25 - 1:47 p.m.

Here�s a story about my first major heartbreak.

Matt was devastatingly handsome. We fell in love while touring Europe with a singing group. He was 18 and I was almost 16. Perfectly ripe for that desperate, dramatic, it�s-us-against-the-world kind of love, don�t you agree? I ask you -- what is more romantic than sharing your first kiss at sunset on a bridge in Venice?

I wasn�t even concerned about what would happen to us when we got back home. Of course we�d stay together! And -- we did -- for two years, despite the fact that we lived rather far away from each other. There were tons of phone calls, love letters, visits, and declarations of devotion.

He was a brooder. One of those artistic loner-types. But he was loyal � just like Wesley in �The Princess Bride�. I adored him. Our personalities were totally opposite but he said that I was a perfect match for him because I was so cheerful and outgoing. He was overly cynical. I was overly optimistic. We balanced each other out, right?

Also? He was hot�the spitting image of Val Kilmer.

He went to college two years before me. I almost accepted a school out of state just to be closer to him. However, we decided that it was more sensible for me to finish my gen ed courses in California, where it was cheaper for me to go to school.

Look at us, making Big People decisions!

Since he was 2 years ahead of me, he�d be graduating and working a �real job� by the time I was ready to transfer to a school closer to him. Then we could get married!

Oh, but then. Then, during my first semester at Cal State, I got the letter:

Dear Erin,
I have to break up with you.
You know how I got involved in the play at school because I wanted to make new friends?
Well�she�s pregnant.
I�m sorry.
I love you,
Matt

So.

You know how you sometimes flip past those awful Marilu Henner/Melissa Gilbert movie-of-the-week reruns on Lifetime? You know, the ones where the mom gets horrible news and falls to the ground weeping?

I did that.

That is a real emotional response. I didn�t know that until I got that letter. I was literally smacked upside the head with disbelief. I hope Matt had a good part in that show. Clearly, he was a very good actor. I didn�t see it coming. Not at all.

Here�s what I did, then:

I got up off the ground.

I found a big box in our garage and I cleaned out my living space.

I put every single Matt-related item into that box. Poems he had written, pictures he had drawn, stuffed animals he had won for me, the letterman�s jacket, the jewelry�.everything went into the box.

I sealed it up, addressed it and drove it over to the post office.

�You want to send that first class?� the postman asked.

Hell, no.

After I sent that box on it�s way�that was it. It was over. No phone calls to �discuss� what happened. No �closure�. I pulled my car out of the post office parking lot and with every streetlight I passed on the way home, I shut down a little piece of loving him. Like a computer or something�I just kept hitting delete until there was nothing left.

How did I have that kind of resiliency back then?

(And will I damage my soul forever if I shut down like that again?)

...

Fast forward to 2001. The phone rings. Late.

�Erin?�

I don�t recognize this man�s voice, but he tells me that it took him 2 years of scouring the internet to find me. He tells me that he loves me. He tells me that all of his relationships have failed because all he can do is think of what could have been. He wants to know why I sent the box back.

�It didn�t arrive on my doorstep until three weeks later and it was all beat up. That really hurt�why did you send it fourth class?�

THAT really hurt?

Exhausted by this surprise from my past, I rubbed my eyes and sighed,

�Oh, Matt. I sent it fourth class because that�s what you were.�

Here�s something that often tumbles around in my head and covers not only ugly breakups, but other scenarios as well:

When is it most healthy for a human being to brush off their hands and walk away?

God doesn't want his children to be shit on over and over, right?

I struggle with knowing when it is the right time to stop being compassionate. I know I have been a real brat toward God in my past and He didn�t bail out on me. BUT --

I�m not God.

And I don�t know the answer to my question either.

It's just something I think about and felt like journaling on today.

____________________________________________________

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