Valentine Day Break-Up

When I was eighteen years old, I began my first serious relationship. He was a few years older than I, and I was thrilled with the prospect of dating an older man. "He would be interested in mature subjects, like the ballet and opera," I gleefully fantasized, "rather than keggers and beer pong."

On my first date with Kyle, he took me to a cafeteria-style pizza parlor. There, he downed two pitchers of beer, screamed "compliments" in my ear, then tossed me the keys to his huge SUV. "It's okay," I reasoned after I got home that night, "At least he was mature by asking me to drive!"

I continued dating this man for two years. A few weeks before our second Valentine's Day (which was actually our first Valentine's Day together, since he opted to go snowboarding with his buddies that first year), I asked him to make reservations at a restaurant so that we could have a nice evening together. He said, "Sure, just make sure you get all dolled up," then slapped my butt reassuringly.

On Valentine's Day, I drove downtown to his designer-furnished condo, where he opened the door wearing his boxers and a robe. I was in heels, a sweater dress and had just spent the last 1.5 hours perfecting hair and makeup. He looked at me and smiled expectantly.

"Come on in, get those clothes off." He pulled me into the apartment.

"When are we leaving for the restaurant?" I asked, confused and yet, still hopeful.

"Well, I didn't get reservations." He scratches his head. "I just didn't bother."

As a more mature woman now, I should have known to get out of there. I should have left him, as he didn't respect or cherish me enough to bother to pick up the phone and call a restaurant.

He walked towards the kitchen. "Here are your favorite flowers." He handed me six wilting, dirt-covered tulips, tied together with a rubber band. Still trying to be gracious and forgiving, I thanked him. He pulled me over to the couch and put out two bowls of cereal.

By now, I was upset. I had been excited over this evening, contemplating possible restaurants that we might visit. I was happy that we would finally be able to spend some quiet time, without the distractions of a television or his computer games. I decided that after two years together, I should be able to tell him my feelings.

"Kyle," I began softly, "I'm really sad that we weren't able to go out tonight. Why weren't the reservations possible?"

He shrugged, wiping away the milk mustache from his bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. "I just didn't make any."

"Why not?"

"I didn't feel like going out today."

"But we had planned this a couple of weeks ago."

He rolled his eyes.

I suddenly was very aware of my surroundings. The weight of an empty cereal bowl pressed down upon my knees and the smell of an unwashed human being engulfed my nostrils. I stood up.

"Kyle, do you want me to go home?" A part of me was still hoping that he would beg me to stay with him.

"Yeah, go home." He turned on the TV.

I picked up my coat, my "bouquet" of flowers and left the apartment. I rode the fancy, modern elevator down to the garage and basked in the silence of the halls. I took a deep breath, salvaged whatever dignity remained after two years of frustration and disappointment and clicked my heels solidly on the ground floor. As I strode towards my car, I spotted a large, lonely trashcan overfilled with discarded items that were once precious to another person. I turned to the trashcan and dumped in those pathetic tulips. Driving out of the building, I caught sight of a small flower stand, glowing under the warm amber light of an adjacent street lamp. When the clerk noticed me, he smiled.

"Happy Valentine's Day. What may I help you with?"

I thought for a moment. "Tulips, please. Fresh ones. It's a new start tonight."