Young Love Interupted

Brian was my first real love. We met at St Laurence’s homecoming my senior year of high school. My friend Jim needed a date and we sat with Brian and his date most of the night. Panicked, after being dumped so close to prom I asked Jim for Brian’s number and we quickly became a couple. We went to both his prom and mine. We were genuinely in love. Jonas met him and seemed to like him. I was helping Jonas out with his studies in accounting and that is how they met at my house. Jonas and I kept in touch but it was not as often as before Brian.

We went to both our proms and we had the time of our lives. We were together just about all the time. Dave was a virgin. I am actually the one who talked him into having sex. I guess once again, I equated sex and love to mean the same thing. We were very contentious and always practiced safe sex. We really expected to be together forever. His family was very accepting of me and included me in family functions.

All was too good to last. I was preparing to attend Western Illinois University in the fall. I had gotten my housing information and was very excited. Brian was not going away to college. All that changed in a single summer afternoon. We were caught in my house after having sex. My parents both overreacted. My father came home early and he was in the bathroom showering. That was one of the many days that hell broke loose in the my household.

I was punished by not being allowed to go away to college. I was forced to attend junior college nearby. There was a meeting of the mothers it was awful. It was as if we had no say in anything. They discussed it and made the decision I should be on the pill. I think the most offensive thing I ever heard was my mother describing her sex life. She told his mother that “Sex was like a recharging of her battery” that made me want to never be born.

Our every move was watched for a short time. We even started making plans to move out on our own to be together. My grandmother tried to help. The odds were so overwhelming that we felt lost. We went to see a priest friend for advice. He actually was no help at all. He would not even give us positive perspective. We dropped the idea and just went with the flow. I went camping with his aunt, uncle and cousin. My mother really resented the fact I was willing to be a part of others families and hated my own family. She really flew off the handle because I did not call in. I was in Wisconsin with people she had spoken to earlier in the day. She really had no respect for me as an adult.

Things seemed to be going okay until we got caught again right before Christmas. You would think we would learn. We didn’t learn because there we were again. This time my father kicked him in the jaw and there is still a scar today. I was forced to choose him or my family. I was told I would not be acknowledged by anyone in the family if I did not choose my family. I would be banned and disowned and all I would get to take was what I was wearing. That is not love.

The relationship never got the chance to end on its own. I think that is why for the longest time was desperate to rekindle the relationship. It was that night I told my mother about Peter and she was not even sympathetic. I was forced into counseling. As if she was not part of the problem, I had to get some self-respect she told me. I went only because it was a condition for me to live at home. I was so very unhappy.

He sent my grandmother letters pleading for her to help him see me. I was never made aware of the letters until ten years later. He would appear at school. I would get so angry. I tried to make him understand that separation will help us move on. I just needed to be away from him. I needed to have a place to live. My mother had taken away any self-confidence that I could take care of myself I might have had at one time.

I wrote him notes to make him hate me. I wanted him to find happiness because I knew I could not find it. I really never thought I would be happy ever again. It was not long after this that I met Giovanni.

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