Drew
The smell of Marlboro 27s mean something to me. Two of my past lovers smoked them religiously
My best friend smokes now. I hate it, I wonder if it’s selfish to ask her to switch to that pack. For my nostalgia, and cause atleast they’re healthier.
Healthy cigarettes sounds like an oxymoron. It reminds me of those relationships. Both complicated, both confusing, both consuming.
Today I am going to tell you about Drew. I was 22 or 23, I promise I’m a reliable narrator. Heartbreak doesn’t have an age.
Every toxic relationship I’ve had the other person ended things first.
Which may speak volumes more about myself then them, most times I went from victimizing me, to villainizing me, to blocking out the emotion connected to my accountability completely.
I was 22 working at one of the hottest bars in DC. It's one of those places where the entire staff looks trendy and wears all black. Everyone’s like decently attractive, you can't specifically find one person that's not *fuckable. And what was amazing to my ego, is the fact that I was a Hostess. I spent my days running on campus going from class to class, and my nights sitting on a hard bar stool behind a brown podium checking people in for dinner. On the weekends, who am I kidding any shift really, we would drink. A bond was created between coworkers taking shots of Jameson on the hour and sneaking glasses of white wine in the coat closet. It was closing time on a Friday night shift when he walked in. It's funny because I procrastinated so much writing this story, and now that I'm reliving the moment I can't decipher whether it feels real or like some obscure dream that occurred.
Anyway he was there for friends and ended up talking to me. I can't tell you the details of the conversation quite frankly, because I don't remember. What I do recall is the way he looked at me. His eyes beamed into mine. His crooked smile was warm and inviting. His shoulders were enticing and he fiddled with his hands. He was funny I remembered that, as someone that is consistently the person that makes the entire room laugh it was such a break to be able to be someone in the audience. After that night we exchanged numbers I had to go off to some birthday bullshit event, and he spent the rest of the evening getting wasted with a couple of his boys in the city.
Dating him was the longest month of my life. You know time is lateral. There can be people in your life for years that will never scratch the surface of what someone in a couple of weeks can experience. I will remember Drew until I am talking to my own daughter, and I'm cradling her during her heartbreak. His face will flash behind my eyelids ever so softly and quickly. It took me a week to watch my infatuation grow and it wasn't till after the death of our relationship that obsession manifested.
Initially when I look back at this relationship I remember us laughing together, spending time together, texting and facetiming. I recall the way he touched me, the rush of heat I felt when I stepped in to kiss him. I remember his shitty car, and the way he effortlessly held a 6 pack of beer. The cardboard strap hanging off his fingertips balancing perfectly. I remember the same shorts he would wear, I remember his tattoos that looked like they were done in a basement. But as I've gotten older I noticed I blocked out a lot of really important memories from that relationship that were a major indicator that this experience was solely to teach me something, not for any reason of permanence.
Now, I remember waiting. Waiting by the phone for him to text or call. I remember wanting so much more than he was able to give. I remember the alcohol that was consistently on his breath. I remember giving myself to a person because I wanted the idea of them to love me. I remember days at the pool and I remember buying things to make him feel comfortable, small items but ways to show that I earned a spot in his troubled life.
The day he picked me up from work, younger me remembered being excited that a guy was picking me up from work. Older Me remembers him lifting his leg while driving to expose an ankle monitor that he'd gotten that day. Younger me probably was kind of impressed, older me is just enthused and embarrassed.
I remember when I first noticed his pattern with the law. He'd get black out, he would get angry, he would get arrested. The idea of being the infatuation of an outlaw seemed exciting. And it was. But there was no safety and security in someone who was so unstable. There wasn't a real future in that.
I remember how much I cried. I put him on a pedestal. I used to think we were so similar, it was probably because it was somewhat true. We mirrored darkness. I was drinking more, and confused, and insecure. I was nothing more than a little girl who wanted to be loved and maybe those familiar eyes seemed so comforting because I hadn't realized I was simply looking back at mine.
We were fascinated with each other until we weren't. I was begging for him to love me without even having any acknowledgment at the fact he didn't love himself. He liked me to a certain extent. I liked him past any capacity of my own.
We broke up in the most massively traumatic way you can imagine. And that story is simply for another day, but there was violence. On both ends, but more so his. He wanted to leave and I didn't want him to go after a long night of drinking. He grabbed my arms and slammed me against a car, and that adrenaline, the need for him to stay… I don't think I felt it, but I saw it the next day. The evidence of an ending written across my arms. I remember apologizing to him profusely. I was sorry, I was wrong. What I had done was beg someone to be there when they truly couldn't.
That night consisted of the lowest of the lowest for me which included me running out down a hallway barefoot in my panties and big T shirt, begging him to change his mind. But he did me the best favor he could've that day.
See sometimes when we get broken up with we think we're wrong, it's our fault ,we are horrible and aren't good enough. And that is not always the case. Sometimes when a toxic person leaves you it's because the universe is saying that your story is over, and they don't really have much use for you anymore. Toxic people can be self aware, even they know when enough is enough. I'd like to think that he keeps my secret, that if he's ever asked about me at a bar he doesn't disclose just how intense we got during and towards the end. It kind of is like he can hang this one critical thing over my head. That there was a time that I was really dark, and really unhealthy, and really didn't love myself and needed to have him make up for where I lacked.
He blocked me on everything the night after the major fight that ended us. And I was devastated, I thought that this unrequited love was the love of my life. It wasn't, it was just a mirage of all the things I desperately wanted but wasn't mentally nor emotionally ready for. After our breakup I searched for him consciously and as time went on subconsciously. Most times when I ran into him he was at the bar with a New Girl, there was always a different one every time. I never saw him with the same person twice. I started to wonder if me and these women all had the same thing in common, that he was a lesson for us. Eventually after weeks where I couldn't eat and I couldn't sleep and I cried a **** ton, things got easier. As I started to see myself I started to see him. Our relationship that seemed so passionate and entertaining revealed itself to be this hallow experience that was solely meant to teach me.
In 2018 I sat in a therapist’s office, my grandmother had just died, I was smoking cigarettes occasionally, Marlboro 27’s. I was sad, I was skinny, I didn't talk to my roommates, I was never really here on earth, not fully. And I would spend hours talking to her about anything outside of what really bugged me and as I brought him up again she asked me if I knew what a Firework Relationship was.
“No.” I replied.
She said it's a relationship that starts with an explosion. It's exciting, it's captivating, it's beautiful, it looks like something you could never get tired of. But then you realize how loud it is, and how not normal it is. And though it is breathtaking, it's just an image and when it's over all you're left with is smoke, and then the stillness of the night sky. And eventually you forget that the fireworks ever went off to begin with.
