After boyfriend number 53, I decided to stop keeping track.
In my defense, that number does include my elementary sweethearts. The way I see it, even though me and Bobby Well’s relationship only consisted of waving/smiling at each other, occasionally sitting together, and claiming to be one another’s boyfriend/girlfriend, since I was emotionally invested, he counts as a boyfriend. So when we broke up in second grade, I experienced my first heart-break. Sure, when he dumped me out in the hallway in front of his friends I acted like I didn’t care, but I’m pretty sure I cried over it.
That cute, blue-eyed, light-brown-haired booger eater wasn’t just a heart breaker, but he had now become a creator of one. I went on to be the girlfriend of fellow classmate, Rodrick Brown, then I moved on to Jaime Perez, and when he got old, Zachary Stein. After Zachary, I would become the most controversial second grader in Madie Ives Elementary school.
My grandma became somewhat of a gypsy after my mom’s stepfather died. She had moved from Tampa and then made several other moves in Miami, one of them being two minutes away from my house in a dingy complex. After befriending a neighbor, she practically became a nanny for the woman’s three kids and one of those kids was a handsome little Colombian who I discovered went to my school. Me and Andres became boyfriend and girlfriend, and I made sure everyone knew I was dating a fourth grader.
I really liked Andres…before we started going out. New was becoming old quite rapidly for me in the area of relationships. Maybe my standards were too high; I had watched every Disney princess movie and decided I was Aurora and needed a Prince Philip. And let’s face it, finding a Prince Philip, the hottest guy you’ve ever seen, someone who would romance you the moment he met you, and then risk his life to save you in elementary school is a difficult feat. But I didn’t see it that way.
Ironically, I began liking Andres again two years later, and in my fourth-grade year, I had my first kiss. Yes. By fourth grade I had made-out with a boy. My best friend at the time had just been dared to tongue-kiss him, and I got jealous so I had my older sister dare us to French kiss [I promise you, she’s a changed woman]. We never went back out because my like for him quickly dissolved again after other boys caught my eye.
When fifth-grade hit, I was already the most popular girl in school. By this point, I had gone through maybe twelve boyfriends or so, but by the end of the year, I’d break that record. I had a grand total of sixteen boyfriends in my fifth-grade year alone. You can say I had a new one almost every week. My, did knowing I can have pretty much any guy I wanted blow my head up bigger than a hot-air balloon. But little did I know that in sixth-grade, that balloon would explode.
I dated this adorable little Puerto-Rican boy, Juan, who ended up falling in puppy-love with me. I mean this boy was still stuck on me even after he moved to Port Saint Lucy two years later. But when I went to middle school and met his older brother, Jean, I had to have him. And I did…for a week-and-a-half.
Apparently, when Juan and his brother came to my birthday party, he really had a thing for my best friend’s cousin, but she didn’t feel the same. Since Jean thought I was pretty and knew I was into him, he rebounded to me. I had received my second plate of heart-break, but this time, I got a bad case of heart-burn. I would listen to Usher’s, “You got it bad,” and cry like a baby for two years.
I won’t get into detail about the other middle school heart-breakers, Fernando and Brian, because I think by now the cycle is obvious.
Ninth-grade year was the same thing: heart-break hotel with Rodrigo. And then tenth-grade arrived. That’s when I met Chris. My deep care for Chris was unlike any of my past crushes. It was this infatuation I couldn’t shake until Senior year. Every time I saw him, my heart would flutter, even if it had been months since the last time I’d seen him; his glistening, brown puppy-dog eyes, thick lips, soft skin. And we were so alike (thanks to a three-hour conversation, his best friend Landon, and MySpace, I knew our common interests were undeniable). I went after him, but my pursuit totally failed. He had found Christina, and she was giving him something I wasn’t willing to. A word of advice: sex can only keep a guy for so long.
By the beginning of my Senior year, Chris had dumped Christina, and what I viewed at the time as destiny, led us back into each other’s lives. Landon’s birthday party two years before was when I found out the heart-wrenching news of Chris and Christina (first-hand). But this year, she was gone and my opportunity to snag Chris had reemerged. I didn’t hesitate. That night I gave him my number. The next weekend I had the best kiss of my life (up until that point). Life was great. It was finally looking like I may soon get my Prince Philip. Until he went Houdini on me.
I discovered a little over a week later that Chris had started dating a promiscuous Freshman from my school. The sex issue had resurfaced. Although I had my share of boyfriends, I never went all the way with any of them, and Chris was well aware of this fact.
To make a long story short: again, sex can only keep a guy for so long. A month or two later they broke up, and he reconnected with me on New Years, and on January 15th, 2008, I was finally Chris’s girlfriend. I was in heaven…for the first week.
He started disappearing again until finally, I tracked him down on Valentine’s day, and he confessed that he couldn’t be in a relationship. I was devastated. I lost six pounds in two weeks and started drinking the pain away with friends. I wasn’t happy at all. But I finally snapped out of it when I met Dace.
Dace was the acrobatics teacher at the dance studio where I taught musical theatre. I didn’t think much of him until we got the chance to hang out through a mutual friend. I ended up almost instantly forgetting about Chris. Two months later, Dace asked me out on prom night. I thought I loved Chris, but if I loved him, I don’t even know what to call what I felt for Dace.
My feelings for this mysterious, intelligent, handsome, metal-head had brought me to the point where I finally wanted to lose my virginity. And I tried–three times–but each time something got in the way. Ever heard the term “divine intervention”? Well, I knew it was divine. For some reason, the Man upstairs did not want me to lose it to Dace, and I would soon find out why.
I wanted Dace to be the one. I loved him more than anything. But God had something different in mind. Very different.