My ex and I dated for four years. We were a charming couple with a cringeworthy “how they met” story. I loved telling it because it made me sound like a hopeless romantic, and he hated it because it made him look like an asshole (which he was at the time).
I was a junior in high school and had read “High Fidelity” about 10 times, at which point the mixtape was first romanticized to me by the main character, Rob Fleming. I had recently moved on to wearing out my copy of Rob Sheffield’s “Love is a Mix Tape”. And I was in love, or limerence, or whatever.
For my 16-year-old self, Brian Stone was the kind of boy I’d wanted to meet ever since I’d read my first YA novel. He was, for all intents and purposes, Seth Cohen. Tall, lanky and just as self-involved and angst-ridden. He was Seth and I was Anna (in a perfect world where Seth and Anna ended up together, of course).
By the time I decided that I was in love, or limerence, or whatever with Brian, we had already developed a complicated history. Basically: We hung out, we made out, he touched my boob over my shirt, he told me he liked me, I told him I liked him, I changed my mind, I avoided him, made out with other guys and came to two realizations: 1) I wanted to be a rock writer, not a pharmacist, and 2) I was in love, or limerence, or whatever with Brian Stone. Only, this time he didn’t like me back. He was still in love, or limerence, or whatever with another girl. But if I were to do something so drastic and so kick-ass, that romanced him so hard, he would realize what I just realized, that we’d be perfect for each other, and we’ll never find another.
So with Rob and Rob as my mixtape masters, I set out to make Brian a tape. I spent two months compiling the perfect songs, changing my mind, arranging the perfect song order and then changing my mind again. I listened to it every night before bed for a month leading up to Friday, February 13. The tape was finished, encased in blue “Rugrats” wrapping paper with a big, shiny, red bow.
The plan was to place the tape on the desk where he sat in his third period chemistry class, the same time I had English across the hall. Expectation: He would open it, give the tracklist a once over, love it, take it home, hit the lights, lie in bed, listen to it and fall in love with me. Just like that. Reality: He threw my tape in the garbage, right in the middle of class. In front of everyone. It’s lucky I wasn’t there to personally witness the most embarrassing moment of my life to date. But a mutual friend who also had third period chemistry live-texted the entire event to me.
That Valentine’s day weekend, instead of making out with Brian and letting him touch my boob over my shirt like I’d imagined, I spent it on the couch crying and watching five of the “Harry Potter” movies with my sister.
The Grand Gesture that I thought would be Lloyd-Dobbler-with-a-boombox irresistible was actually Duckie-riding-his bike-past-your-house-every-day pathetic.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
