I wasn’t born to accommodate, but by being with my boyfriend Abe for the past three and a half years, it may seem as if I were.
For the past three and a half years, there was no one else, and I knew of nothing else. I shut myself off from the rest of the world because I didn’t need anyone – I didn’t want anyone – but him.
Abe had the privilege of being with me. We were completely and totally in love, completely and totally infatuated with each other’s existence, completely and totally happy.
We were soul mates, destined to be together, yada yada yada…
My freshman year of college was when I first laid eyes on Abe. He was walking outside of the student center at school – singing along to whatever was blasting through his oversized headphones. Hair untamed and dirty as all hell, wearing bright yellow pants and a tie-dye tee shirt, something clicked as he indifferently flashed me a smile out of the corner of his left lip, and I immediately fell…hard.
Nearly running back to my dorm, I regurgitated the news to my roommate. Now, I was never the type of girl that chased boys around. But, all of a sudden, that changed: From then on, I purposely took the long route to class with the intention of sneaking a second look at the inviting blue eyes of “yellow pants” – that’s what I called him.
Months passed, and I could not update my roommate of any “yellow pants” news.
The summer of my freshman year, I was visiting my former roommate in Delaware. Since she was obligated to go to Mosque one morning, I was wandering around campus, looking for a way to pass the time. Being the klutz that I am, I somehow lost my wallet.
I started to tear when some random girl from a church group came up to me:
“I lost my wallet.”
“Well, I will say a prayer for you. I have a feeling something good will come out of this.”
I found it on the steps of a dorm, along with a new friend.
She needed a roommate for sophomore year, and so did I.
Two weeks later, I went back to visit her at her summer residence.
Sitting on her dilapidated porch, which seemed to be giving birth to garbage – I mean, this was a college house – a strange, curly-haired hippie walks by us.
Without thinking, I shout, “Oh my god, you’re yellow pants!”
“What? Um… Hi, I’m Katy’s roommate, Abe. Oh yea, I have yellow pants.”
I swear, within five minutes – I’m not even sure if he knew my name yet – we were in his bedroom changing into each other’s clothing. I’m still not sure why, but – whatever – we were the same size, and yellow looked hella good on me.
It was – please excuse the cheesiness – love at first clothing swap.
As my sophomore year unfolded, so did my days, my months, my years with him.
Albeit the hard times – and believe me, I put him through some rough situations – we shared many laughs, many cuddles, many nights-in, many nights-out, and – of course – a plethora of inescapable memories.
But, I presume, to him, these recollections resembled noting more than the stench of 3-year-old garbage.
A weekend ago – after avoiding my phone calls for two days- I answer the phone, excited to finally hear his voice.
“Cat, we need to talk,” he says.
I immediately fell on the floor. He had never spoken those words in such a stern voice.
Just three weekends ago, we were together upstate, and everything seemed perfect.
But, that was it: Out of nowhere, he dumped me.
After years of calling each other the “one” and each other’s “soul mate,” Abe tells me, “I have been faking it, and I haven’t been in love with you. I have known this for about a year and a half, but I felt like you needed me.”
Whoa! Needed you? I have been in love with you – huge difference.
He proceeds to tell me, “You molded me into what you wanted.”
Or was it the reverse?
The worst part of it all though, is the fact that he refused to hear my side, and when I grew the balls to call him to dish it, he said “I understand” and hung up on me. Preferring to maintain my role as an ignorant fool, he refused to hear me call him a coward.
And, reverting to sixth grade behavior, he recently prolonged the sting by un-friending me on Facebook. (Seriously?)
The end of our relationship was completely one-sided, completely black and white.
He gave me the news, and then threw me out of his life like a piece of trash.
But it’s okay because he told me, in a Godly fashion, that “This is my ultimate test.”
It’s okay because he told me, “Other people saw this coming.”
And it’s okay because he told me I could cuddle with him one more time.
But I need to move on because “We have absolutely no chance of a romantic future.”
And because “He has only pretended to be happy.”
And, finally, because “I need to focus on my studies in nanotechnology” (whatever the hell that is, anyways).
There is no good way to break up with someone, but there is a considerate way to do so: He should have told me to my face. He should have listened to me cry. He should have broken up with me over a year ago.
But that wasn’t convenient – to him, at least.
Not only did “Honest Abe” break my heart, but he managed to maintain his power role.
A scared little bitch, he obviously does not know what he wants.
I lost my best friend, and he lost his.
The only difference is that he probably still wants me around, and – after three and a half wasted years – I do not intend to prolong another moment of emotional disrespect. I do not intend to long for what is gone, what has been gone for years.
This boy, this lie, is dead to me.
So, ladies and gents, speak up and tell me what you think. Who is in the right here? He had the opportunity to tell me the news to my face time and time again – I was with him nearly every weekend. Should he have confronted me in person? Should I have seen this coming? Was it morally sound of him to avoid this break up for so long? What IS the right way to dump someone, anyway???
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