He was in my college History class, and he made me laugh constantly. He was always joking about, and I was in awe of him. He was a couple of years older than me, and knew my older sister from school. I don’t recall how, but I started spending time with him, hanging around town between lectures, going to the pub after college (or instead of college). It turned out we had quite a few friends in common. One night we were out drinking, and either I missed my last bus home, or he told me not to bother catching it; I could stay at his place. He set up a mattress on the living room floor for me. In the morning we went to a park on his estate and sat on swings and chatted. He asked, “Will you go out with me?” I said yes and felt like a ten-year-old. Then I caught the bus home. A few days later he invited me round to his house for a meal; he was going to cook for me. I caught the bus into town, and he met me and we walked to his house, at the top of a hill I didn’t recall being that steep when I was drunk. We walked largely in awkward silence, except for the occasional joke. He had a habit of rambling in a slightly deranged way when faced with an awkward situation. I forget what he cooked, but I do recall it involved refried beans, which I’d never had before. We sat in his living room watching Jerry Springer on the TV, sitting in arm chairs either side of a coffee table and drinking Martini because I'd mentioned to him once that I liked it. Even when we were both drunk it was still quite uncomfortable. That night I slept in his room, but we barely kissed. We were both stupidly shy. The next morning I was sick and hung over, and he felt bad for having fed me so much booze. I was mortified and left soon after.
We went to the cinema one evening, and watched Titanic. We were both cynical teenagers though, and far too cool to cry at the sad scenes. We just sat there feeling terribly uncomfortable, like two cardboard cut-outs of people.
I don’t recall us doing much else together. At half term he went to Kent with his friend for the week. It was Valentine’s Day during that week, and he apologised for not being there to spend it with me. He posted me a card with a hologram heart on the front, and a note inside about me having a nice day without him there to spoil it for me. I thought perhaps he'd misunderstood the point of Valentine's Day and was rather disappointed that for the first time in my life I had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day, and he wasn't here to fuss over me like men did on TV. I decided to completely ignore the facts: we were the world's most awkward couple and this was clearly not love's young dream. At the end of half term week, he was supposed to come back to town. On the day he was due to come back, he called me and said he was staying in Kent for a few extra days, and asked me to call his work for him in the morning and tell them he was sick. I agreed, and the following morning called and lied my face off about his having been up all night with a stomach bug.
When he came back, I didn’t see him before college started again. We met up in our History lecture. Things were weird between us, but that was because we’d not seen each other for a week. Or so I thought. After our lecture he asked if I wanted to go into town. We walked into town, and then he said, “let’s sit on this bench here...” We sat there, watching the ducks in the river, and he told me that the reason he’d stayed in Kent the extra few days was that he’d met someone, a girl. And he really liked her, he wanted to give it a chance because he thought this could be his chance for happiness. I sat there in silence. I remember him saying to me, “shout at me, call me a wanker, just do something!” But I was too horrified to speak. I’d called his work and lied for him, so that he could spend extra time with this other girl. Instead of being angry with him, I was crushed. I liked him, but he didn't want me. I was clearly ugly and unlovable and would die alone. I went home and cried.
After that my history lectures were like torture for a while, until he made me laugh again and all was forgotten. We still skived from college together, but now we did it in a big group of people; we’d all go back to his house and watch 15 To 1, or Jerry Springer.
About two years later, when I was going out with one of his friends, he apologised to me for the way he’d treated me. I joked about him breaking my heart, and he got a bit upset; I had to tell him it wasn’t a big deal. The truth is he did break my heart, but I didn't think I'd really been worthy of him any way. I think it's safe to say I had major self esteem issues.
After that, we were friends on and off for a few years. From time to time he would leave town in a big furore, where he was moving on to bigger and better things, and would never return again to this hole of a city, he was leaving forever to find his fortune in a much better place... and then a few months or even a year later, I’d bump into him in the street and he’d be back living at his mum’s. We always got on though, and would go out for a drink and have a laugh. Years later when my father died, he sent me a card with a very lovely and genuine message in it. He came to the wake to support me and I'll be eternally grateful for that. I’ve not seen him for a few years now though; maybe he’s actually moved away more permanently.
