This isn’t a story of romance or even of joy. It’s practical tale. Told in the most matter of fact way. That’s how it was, matter of fact. It’s fitting to revisit it on a day where we are told to glorify romance, but superficially. Real connections aren’t about a red card or a pink rose.

I was 16. It was Valentine’s Day, apparently the worst day to break up with someone. You live, well, you know. I had been dating this Chinese boy, Teddy, who showered me with attention, annoyingly adorable stuffed animals, giant cards that professed ridiculous sentiments, and had his friend drive us around like a chauffeur, us in the back. I knew it was going to be short lived. He was way too affectionate, kind of corny and consequently, possessive. But that’s what you do when you are so young, you get to act like a fool and date secret jerks. He was one of them.

On this Valentine’s Day, I was dreading having to go out with Teddy. The anxiety was building in me. I knew I was in for an evening of awkward silence and cultural misunderstanding at his friend, the chauffeur’s, house, with some karaoke peppered in.

When he called, I just blurted it out, “Teddy, I can’t see you any more!”

“What about tonight?”

“Not tonight. Not any other night. I am sorry to do it like this.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“I know”

“You are a real bitch.”

“Fine. I deserve that.”

“Fuck you…” He descending into a string of profanities that I hung up on. He called back, but I wouldn’t answer.

Later that week, I cam home a little late from school. I opened the door to, what should have been my locked room, and in the dusky light, screamed out.

“There is some one fucking in here!”

But there wasn’t. I flipped the lights on, as my mom ran up behind me. My room was filled with flowers. Roses and lilies and baby’s breath. Filled. Every surface.

It turned out that my brother had been bribed to let Teddy and his chauffeur in. They had filled my room. I didn’t have the time or the energy that night to clean them all out. Besides, my mother said that they were lovely, and why waste them.

Why? Because they gave me nightmares. Because Teddy continued to leave bizarre tokens of his ever increasing obsession at my house. They’d appear almost daily. Big cards, stuffed teddy bears, more flowers. At least this time, the gifts were left in the yard. So much easier to put them in the trash.

Teddy is actually tangential, but sets the stage.

As February passed into March, we had a few good days. I had started “hanging out” with a new boy. An extremely charming and charismatic boy, but who had a host of problems. But some how, I let him charm the pants off of me, literally.

This is how I lost my virginity, coming off a mild case of stalking, in a dank basement room. Lying on the bed, I turned my head to see there was a bear bottle, with cigarette buts in it. Piles of dirty clothes and the room smelled of stale cigarettes and dirty linen. He was on top of me. I didn’t really know what to do or what to expect. He had all the experience. I expected pain, but there was none. I expected pleasure, but there was none of that either. I felt serviceable. He plunged away and I made noise, but I wasn’t there. I was above, looking at the surroundings. Seeing myself and him, awkwardly intertwined.

As I walked my bike the short distance home, I thought about it. I was both relieved and disgusted with myself. I didn’t love this boy. I had just decided that it was maybe time to get it over with, like a chore. The breezes cooled the sweat that had beaded on my face despite the spring air. I lifted my face to it,  changed and not changed at all.