My Heart Swings
Social media can really be a bastard. A total , pulling no punches pain in the guts and gonads of your emotional equilibrium.
I deleted him after we broke up. It seemed like the responsible, looking after me type thing to do. I did not want to see his smiling face plastered all over my computer screen. How dare he be smiling without me. What a cock nuckle. It was brutal and horrendous as the deterioration of a first real relationship ever is. So when he got a girlfriend five days after me. Before I had even moved all my stuff out. Before he had even changed the sheets! ”It is a rebound.” Friends assured me. ”I give that four weeks tops!.” Said another.
As he is now back in his hometown Auckland, New zealand. No he is not Samoen. He was tall pale skinned with bright blue eyes and shiny black hair. Also addicted to weed in a very real and paranoid inducing way.
When the news was filled with stories of the earth quakes devastating so many people, I immediatly thought of my long gone first love. It had been five years.
I thought perhaps he had moved and been around the quake affected areas. I got worried. It was unfamiliar to feel worry and not white hot rage when I thought of his face. So one afternoon as I manned the front desk of the triple rrr studios. I sent him a face book message. I simply asked how he was and that I hoped he had not moved to Wellington in the South Island, in the last few years.
He replied immediately and added me again on facebook. ”Do not delete me again!” He wrote. Things were all fine and dandy.
Until last week.
I have a job that takes up exactly two hours every Wednesday afternoon. No I am not a hooker, though I assume the money would be a lot better. Every Wednesday I go to Fitzroy primary school. I collect a key from the front office. The woman who hands me my key is of indian decent and has huge big brown eyes. I take the key to an upstairs room across the hall from the grade 3 and 4 classrooms. I unlock the after care room and in that room equipped with a dest big brightly couloured cushions, games and puzzels, I sit and read whilst waiting for any walk in students to look after. A walk in refers to a child who arrives to after care without a booking.
So on this particular Wednesday I have the latest issue of ELEPHANT magazine, a visual art and culture publication. I hear the grade 3 teacher shouting at her disruptive brood. The children at this small school are all from low socio- economic backrounds, they are mostly refugee children from India, Africa, Sudenease and Nigeria. They mostly come from the commission flats and are incredibley boisterous. As I read my magazine, a small boy opens the door and pokes his head in tentatively. ”Fuck you.” He says before shutting the door and running back to his classroom.
Sometimes a group of them will bang and yell at the door like a pack of baby hyenas. It is not cute it is sociapathic this need they have to scare me or startle me. Where does this desire come from? I pose no threat to them.
As usual by 4pm there are still no walk ins.
I decide to check facebook on my phone. I do not have the app because I feel it would hinder my reading time. Right away I wish I had not done so. After a few posts, one by my sister (six years younger than me) about cleaning and having the kids to bed , ‘Yippee.” And the one by the guy always posting about polotics. I read that
Josh added an event to his timeline. The event was he got engaged to Alice Smiley.
It twists and rips inside my belly like I had only seen him yesterday. Kissed him yesterday. Traced my fingers over his naked back making words he had to guess, just yesterday.
But it was not yesterday.
I closed my eyes tightly and this did not help matters. Why did he have to have a profile picture that was so obviously not recent. It was one taken not long after we broke up. In it he is wearing the shirt I picked out for him. Which made me feel even worse. I was never over it. If I had not been in a primary school I would have shouted with utter conviction the only word that could expel such strong and supurfluos emotion. I wanted to scream it at the sky. So much for her being a rebound. I thought bitterly. It did well up in me such vivid poisonase hate for this girl. I remembered finding her snake bracelet on the floor on the day I went to get some stuff back. A pair of black tights on the unmade bed, that looked like a giant spider at first.
So now they are getting married. I did read the comments of congratulations, because this is the kind of creepy social media has made so easy to carry out. I found out he had proposed at sunset in Cambodia. He had wanted to marry me. I remembered that as I sat there in that empty classroom. He had wanted me to love him forever, but I couldn’t. He could not handle my depression. He took it too personally. He had of course smoked weed every day for the entirety of our relationship. He did this even after telling me he had quit.
But at that moment I did not remember the bad stuff only the good stuff. The sexual stuff of course. The truly amazing sexual stuff. I had nobody to compare him to. He had been my first. I made him wait a year. I say that like it was all my choice because I was such a chaste little thing. That is so far removed from the reality. He helped me through a really odd sexual dysfunction that I will not reveal here because it will make a truly great story. You go through something like that with your first boyfriend and it cements them in you far beyond the extent of the relationship.
It was the memories of that shared experiance that eventually had me turn my phone off and sit there in the empty room. I did not pick up my magazine. I did not even fidget. I sat still and remained deep in thought as the room slowly got darker with the setting of the sun. The children had long gone and there remained only the sound of a vacuume cleaner and the two cleaners occasional voices. Before I left the classroom, I went back into facebook looked at his event update and took a deep breath. I clicked the like button. I was told ”you and 14 others like this.”
When I finally get inside my own front door and walk up the long dark hallway to my bedroom there is an invitation to my 19 year old cousin’s wedding shower. When you believe in no sex before marriage. The concept of marriage becomes at the for front of your life span priorities. It strikes me as remarkable how easy it will be be for my cousin. She will never have to wake up in the morning not knowing exactly what is expected of her. she will not go to uni she will be pregnant within a year of marriage just like her sister was. I read the invitation before throwing it on my bedside table. It falls to the floor and I do not pick it up.