First Love is Like Hard Rubbish

First Love is Like Hard Rubbish

You can't make him love you but he certainly won't forget you. ME

There's nothing wrong with calling him. It's natural to want to call your boyfriend. To ring him for a chat: -So what are you doing? '

 

You can keep it really natural. Often though you have to call back because you've just had a brain wave like: -Why don't I come over at eight and then we can do lunch.' It's not really a question more of a suggestion. After all we are going out. It's been just over two years now.

We have heaps of sex. When I first saw him naked I was wondering how he kept it up. Well it was so pointy. It looked kinda dangerous like a spear. And what a joke his father sprung us, not actually doing it but using their condoms. We used the ones from their bedside table. I mean his parents! Can you believe it! So his Dad told us, well not me but Brad, to buy our own! Fair enough I guess since we had been sneaking away from school for lunch at his house. We would fake the lunch but it didn't take long to end up in the spare bed. He would do a lot of fumbling for my bra clips first and then his fingers down my pants. He said, 'one day we'd go all the way.' And we did, on his parents' bed. A lot better than Rachel, who did it in the dunny at a social. And it was her first time.

I remember he was real gentle but he did have to push a bit. I don't know why but I was expecting blood…I think I must have got that bit from a movie or was it from our sex education classes we had in year seven. He's breaking my hymen, I remembered thinking. He kept looking at me, as though his eyes were going on a journey, so I followed them and then he shuddered and fell on top of me. His head, collapsed onto my chest.

'Wow that was amazing." He said and then we did it again.

Yeah, it was amazing to be doing it but there's a lot of other stuff I like and that is being together. We always go to parties. I guess most of our friends are in relationships, the same crowd, and usually we end up at Pandora's; a nightclub in the city.

Occasionally, like tonight I leave my mobile in the kitchen, while I listen to music on my Ipod. I deliberately leave it there on the bench, often turning down the volume in case I thought I heard Mum telling me Brad was calling.

Not yet, I wonder where he is? So I send him a message…see you tomorrow…let's go to the bakery near the park…(text language)

Staring at my phone screen with the volume on high, I pretend to not wait for his message. Next to my bed are the keys to the Barina Dad said I could use since I was working fulltime.

It's 9pm and I begin to wonder more where he might be. He could be at the gym, it's Thursday night, he's often there or maybe at home. I could drive by there first to see if his cars in the drive and then pass by the gym but that could be closed, or is it at 10pm. I guess there's time. So I slip on my pink thongs with butterfly clips and keep on my summer dress which I've been wearing since I got home from work.

Dad is putting out our old TV and a mattress on the kerb for the rubbish pick up in the morning. There's barely a car on the road as my mind buzzes and hands guide the car to his house in less than 10 minutes.

The carport is empty; total darkness.
I push open the side gate just in case he's watching TV in the back room. But I only hear his sister yelling, more like sobbing.
'But I love you…can't we just try to live together, " she cries into what must be the phone. The shadows are my only witness as I walk out slowly; knowing I'm in the wrong place.

The stereo's volume is high with a new beat I don't recognise as I speed towards the gym hoping to catch him before it shuts, well before he leaves. White shapes from the kerbside which look like disused refrigerators fill my headlights. Someone stops suddenly in front of me as I narrowly glide around them. In my rear view mirror I see someone pulling chairs off a pile and into their trailer. Bloody idiot!

Wait on, was that him driving past? I probably missed him. I text again: just thought I would drop by.
There he is, in shorts and singlet, shoulders glistening beneath the street lights. The gym lights turn off as Brad takes a seat behind the wheel. He hasn't seen me, I think. Pulling in beside him I smile hoping he can see it's a surprise.

No surprise on his face as he thumbs his mobile.
'I was about to call you." He says quietly looking down at his phone cover that I gave him for his birthday. I wanted to talk to you he continues but he's not really looking at me. I go to hug him but he's just hard sweaty.

'Ok, Ok," I say thinking it's about phoning him because he told me last week I didn't need to call him so often.
'It's just that I think I don't love you anymore." His words disappear as quickly as they arrive.
Before I know it my hand has slapped his face and the tears start. His face is motionless, side on to where my hand slapped it, away from me.
I'm crying and he says nothing.
Why shrieks in my head…what is happening? I shout. 'Why?"

He glares at me now with eyes, motionless like shards of glass as he takes a step towards his car.
I can't believe it…is it me speaking or is it in my head but it repeats over and over. Everything is moving except me.
My hands are on the steering wheel reversing until I accelerate towards him and his open door. My eyes are blurred, full of tears as snot streams down my lips.
He watches me and shuts the car door before rolling sideways onto the bonnet, out of my way. I hit the kerb but keep going out onto the road.

The back of my fingers press the salty tears off my cheeks. It feels like something pressing against my chest, it's heavy as I try to steer towards home. He doesn't love me anymore.
What am I to do now? There isn't an answer only a heaviness in my chest.
But I think it will be alright to call him, maybe he'll see that we just need to talk about things. Just to keep it really natural. I feel better and check my messages just in case.

By Emma Bateman