[P]erhaps the worst thing about the breakup is the fact that music gets caught in the fallout."
I found a web site called Ruined Music where people share stories of break-ups that made the music die. It struck a cord with me, so to speak. And seemed especially appropriate with the outrageous failure of Proposition 8 in California. There's a connection. You'll see.
Because there was one boyfriend--the first, of course--and one song that to this day evokes the painful angst of that break-up and became, at the time, my samba of shame.
Scoff if you like, but I'm not ashamed of The Girl From Ipanema. It's good jazz. Though maybe today a bit drippy and cliched, I own up to it now in context of the times. And anyway, Answers.com says it's the Number 2 most-recorded song in history, second only to the Beatles' Yesterday.
It was Our Song. I loved its sensual beat, its soft crooning vocals, its poignant lament of unrequited, unattainable love. So maybe, somewhere deep in my psyche, I already knew.
We met when we were both 15, he was exactly one week older, to the day. Instant chemistry. Not merely adolescent hormones, it was more about Kismet. A sense of I know this person.
When describing our relationship we used to say, 'Click.' It was just that simple.
He was literally a teenage dream. Tall, dark and handsome. Bright, witty, sexy. Self-deprecating and self-confident. A heady mix. I wasn't quite in his league in the beginning. An inexperienced Jewish hippie wannabe, but still, showing promise of the woman he'd help me become.
He was an honor student, a soccer star, an accomplished musician. He could play anything, passionately. Piano. Guitar. Drums. Female flesh. And of course, he was neurotic as hell. A charming bad boy. What more could a blossoming Baby Boomer want?
He was my First Love. We told each other everything. Or so I thought. No games. No holds barred. We were welcomed into each other's families, deemed a good catch by both sides. We'd be together forever. But I just didn't see.
We were together, on and off, until we were 25. That's a long time in Teen Years. Through high school. College. And beyond. We broke-up-to-make-up many times. I cried to the haunting strains of Our Song during the break-ups. And reveled in it during the make-ups.
Our college years moved us apart, but only geographically. I was at Penn, he at Wesleyan. One weekend I drove up to surprise him. I used my key to his dorm room, heard Our Song playing, the shower running. I dropped my bags and clothes, grabbed a towel, stepped in to join him.
And came face to face with a wet, soapy male stranger. Hard to tell which of us was more surprised. Oh no, I thought, I'm in the wrong room! Not the case. A dorm friend whose shower was broken, he later explained.
I just didn't see. But it was the 70's. Who was looking?
He went to France for a year. Had an affair there. Told me all about her. It was our generation's credo -- Free Love. We made up. I just didn't see.
After college he moved to New York, I moved to Harrisburg, then Washington. We had started to drift apart, but the bond was still unbreakable. We had history. We had memories. We had each other. No matter what. I just didn't see.
One weekend I went to New York to surprise him. Yeah, I know. But I was older and wiser. I wasn't about to jump into another shower. Nevertheless, deja vu was about to kick me in the teeth.
Once again I used my key. Yet again I heard Our Song playing. I tiptoed to the bedroom. Slowly opened the door. Anticipation oozing from every pore.
And found them in bed together.
The girl from France? No.
A new city girl? No.
An old flame? Yes.
One I hadn't known about. Or hadn't let myself know. It was ...wait for it... the guy from the dorm shower.
It's no big deal here in 2008. But back then, up close and personal, it was a buzz kill of the highest order. Such a betrayal. And got so much worse when they asked me to join them.
Needless to say, that encounter resulted in our final, permanent break-up.
He's out of the closet now, good for him. We used to speak on the phone and see each other occasionally when I traveled to LA, but after I got married and started a family, we totally lost touch. I hope he's happy. He still lives in California, so I'm sorry --no, pissed-- he can't get married to the man of his choice. I hope he found one with that same 'Click.'
But I have to admit, for years afterward, every time that song came on the radio my teeth gritted. My head hurt. And all I could hear was The Boy From Ipanema.
And of course, the final lyrics haunted me, She just doesn't see, No she doesn't see.
For the record, if this seems in any way anti-gay, I have failed miserably to communicate. And I ask you to read this The Dark Night - A Personal Story About Gays and Murder. It's from my earlier OS days and got buried, but you'll see how much it means to the gay community, and to me.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Max Rivlin-Nadler
drlaura2
Kristina Lakes
mhold
L in the Southeast
Jane Brogan
Salon.com
Comments
(rated)
I'm pissed, too.
Stay tuned (believe it or not--and I know you do) for my part 2 to this---I kinda got the same story to tell. I'm sure it won't make it to the cover---o I am EXTRA glad yours did!
I was naive in college and was fooled, too. Before AIDS there was little onus to "come clean" about your sexual preferences -- in the free love and sex generation it seemed that any adventure was fair game. We were lucky to come out of it without permanent health issues, so I am at least thankful for that blessing for both of us, and all the others that have been through the same!
Lisa, my husband and I got married in 1982 ... sexually transmitted disease-wise, he's always said, "We got out at the top of the market."
Just. Wow.
That probably depicts better than anything I've read here so far how difficult it was for gays when we were teens, Sally. Not that it's really much easier now - a little, to be sure, but still.....
Rated.
At the same time I tried to imagine who might judge it to be "anti-gay." There might be other people, but the ones that came most readily to mind are those who are themselves anti-gay to begin with. They might say, "Yes, look at those lying gay men who sleep around and try to involve others in their debauchery and don't care what kinds of diseases they pass on to others, even those they claim to love." Such persons are among those who voted to pass Prop. 8. They are the ones, now, who "just don't see." It's hard to know what will open their eyes.
But as for you, what a wonderful gift you were to your friend/lover, and what a wonderful gift you've given all of us in telling your story! Maybe others who tell such stories in the way you did will help people begin to see with new eyes.
Amy... Gays are human? Is that in the Bible? We need to get that word out, now. Send it to California, especially.
Ha, and I know what your husband means about getting out at the top of the market.
:)
Never caught my first wife with her girlfriends but after 13 years and 2 kids she now lives with her partner of several years.
You might want to talk to him. We are better friends now than when we were married and she denied liking women.