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I Remember: When Reality Hit Me
(…And then slowly crept down to my left foot) — This story is just one of my many Gen X memories in an ongoing series of “I Remember” returning like shattered glass — that sometimes hurt when I grasp at them — enjoy the read and perhaps learn a lesson or two!
In 1993, I was a hot girl in my early twenties. I’d finally decided to move away from my boyfriend of nearly ten years to live on my own. I moved into a single apartment above a garage — one luxurious block from the beach — and settled into my new, independent groove.
Seven or eight months into living this new life, my ex had finally stopped calling and ringing my doorbell at all hours, but he still left love notes and flowers on my car windshield. His most recent letter had explained how he’d learned a lot of things since I left; he was going to community college, learning things like nonverbal communication, and generally feeling like he was maturing, and appreciating me more every day. Good for you, man. Good for you!
I was tired of being the mature one. Though I had a good job, was attending college, and pursuing my passion for poetry, literature, and writing, I also started dating an aloof bad boy — Terry. He…
