The Death of Super Boyfriend
As a kid I always figured I was, for some reason, perfectly prepared to prevent good relationships from getting stale or having the passion peter out. I don’t know why I believed I was immune to having arguments that did irreparable damage to the relationship, that I was immune to conflicting interests and unexpected incompatibility, or that I was immune to having my partner experience plain old stagnation related boredom. Watching rom-coms with my family as a kid made me, at best, able to see the warning signs, but that was it. I had no special powers to deal with those things. And yet, going into my first relationship, I believed I was destined to be a Super Boyfriend.
Lately I, Super Boyfriend, using my incredible powers of perception, have detected that not all is right in Relationship City. My girlfriend is in distress. Using my amazing ability of communication I ask her, frequently, if everything’s okay. She deflects easily, telling me that she’s fine and that nothing’s wrong. My boyfriend senses are still tingling. I reach into my utility belt and pull out date ideas. My plans are frequently foiled, however, by the sheer fact that we’re high school students with curfews and no money to do anything. Darn.
She tells me about a friend she’s made. For one of her friend’s birthday they all went out for pole dancing lessons, something I didn’t even know was available to sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. At these lessons a live band was playing, another thing I didn’t know happened. I thought all pole dancing was done to second rate clubbing jams and unironic hair metal songs played from someone’s laptop’s music library on shuffle. These teenage girls, however, learned to work those poles to live music. One of these live musicians, the drummer, really hit it off with my girlfriend. She says he’s a Nice Guy. As Super Boyfriend I detect a nemesis in Nice Guy. It doesn’t matter that he has his own girlfriend, that my own girlfriend says I would like him, or that we’re kindred spirits since I’m also a drummer. I don’t like Nice Guy. However, as Super Boyfriend, I have an obligation to put my girl’s happiness before my own, and she seems happy to have a new friend.
After a few more weeks things don’t get better between us. My powers as Super Boyfriend are dwindling. The double whammy of jealousy and my own insecurity breaks through my defences. I don’t know what’s worse: The idea that Nice Guy has ruined this relationship, or the idea that he has nothing to do with it and she and I have just run our course. Either way, I hear from her less and less, and barely see her when we’re at school.
In an uncontrollable bout of missing her I text her and ask if she wants to hang out. She doesn’t answer for the longest time. When she finally does she says no because she’s hanging out with someone else. My alter ego of Super Boyfriend isn’t prepared to hear this. He has his first panic attack, but since he’s just an alter ego I’m the one who has to deal with the uncontrollable sobbing and the chest pains.
The next day she calls for a break and I know it’s time to hang up the cape.
Way It Was is a writing project and ongoing attempt to work through a lot of relationship related shit. Find out more about it here.
