The Nuclear Bomb Helped Me Break-Up with a Bad Boyfriend
My boyfriend and I were fighting when the air raid sirens went off, but that’s no surprise. We were always fighting.
It was an unhappy relationship from the start. I should have ended it sooner, but I didn’t think I could survive without him. When the nuclear bomb came, I learned an important lesson. I learned that if you can survive a nuclear bomb, then you can survive a break-up with a bad boyfriend.
The city was on high alert in the weeks leading up to the attack. Everyone was tense. My doctor gave me pills to help with the anxiety, but I don’t like to take drugs. I don’t even like to take aspirin. So I filled the prescription and put the bottle in my dresser drawer. I planned to take it only when I really needed it.
Like I said, my boyfriend and I were fighting when the air raid sirens went off. We were fighting about what kind of tires to put on the Jeep — funny, considering that the Jeep was about to be annihilated. We were about to be annihilated, too, if we didn’t get to the fallout shelter.
This, I thought, would be a good time for my anxiety pills. So, I went to the bedroom to get them, but when I lifted the bottle out of the dresser drawer, I knew something was wrong — it was too light. I opened the bottle.
It was empty.
My boyfriend came into the bedroom. He saw that I had discovered the empty bottle.
“I can explain,” he said.
But I didn’t need an explanation. The look on his face said it all.
My boyfriend was a recovering drug addict. He had gone to rehab to get help and had been sober for months, but he had relapsed without telling me. He had stolen my pills and left me with nothing.
That’s when I knew it was over. I was ready to break up with him, and I knew exactly how I would do it.
I ran to the fallout shelter in the backyard. The sky was dark. Heavy rain had turned the yard to mud. I hurried down the concrete steps and opened the thick lead door. I stopped there and looked back. My boyfriend was coming down the steps with a look of desperation on his face.
“Wait!” he begged. “Please, wait! Please don’t do this!”
He looked so pathetic, drenched in the mud and rain. I was tempted to reconsider, but I knew that if I didn’t break up with him now, I never would. I knew it was time for tough love.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but this is for the best. Goodbye.”
“No,” he screamed, “I won’t survive!”
“Goodbye, forever,” I said.
I stepped into the fallout shelter and pulled the door shut behind me. Just before the door shut, I saw a glimpse of the brightest, hottest light I had ever seen. It was The Blast. I heard my boyfriend scream. It was a scream of absolute agony. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had finally done it. I’d finally broken up with my bad boyfriend.
The next few weeks in the fallout shelter were hard. I drank my entire supply of Jim Beam in one day. I drunk dialed my Ex a few times, but he didn’t pick up his phone. I guess it was because he was dead or dying or something, but it still hurt to be ignored like that.
I was lonely. I was out of liquor. I got terrible diarrhea. It was a dark, dark time.
Then one day the man on the Emergency Radio said it was safe to come out. But was I ready to face the world as a single girl? I wasn’t sure.
When I finally emerged from the fallout shelter, I was a stronger person. I was a better person. Breaking up with my Ex was the best thing I have ever done, and I couldn’t have done it without the nuclear bomb. It killed a lot of people, but it gave me a fresh start, so.
Anyway, I’m dating someone new. His name is Dennis. Dennis keeps a sleeve of crackers in his backpack, he can run very fast for his size, and he has a nice fat face that is always slick with sweat or grease or something. Dennis is everything a man should be.
Sometimes I still think about my Ex. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see him on the steps to the fallout shelter; I can still hear him begging me not to leave him, and I wonder if I did the right thing. Should I have given him another chance?
Naw.
