Valentine’s Day, Valentine’s Day…It’s a hard one for a writer. I mean, how do you write about love without sounding sentimental or cliché’? Still, we are all writing about love in some ways. So I’m told. Don’t “they” say we are all writing the same story? Stories about love. Stories about death. Stories about love and death.
So, I’m celebrating V-day for the first time in years with my BF. At 45 I just can’t bring myself to use the label “boy friend.” But what are the alternatives? Lover? Partner? Fuck-buddy? So, I use BF. Okay, it makes me sound like a teenager. But, then again, who knows more about love than a teenager? Don’t you remember those days when that’s what it was all about? Falling in love. That’s what mattered. All that mattered, all you wanted. Oh, and when you did, WOW! What a feeling! How many records, tapes, CDs, did you wear out? Can you wear out an Ipod?
Love was all consuming and you weren’t called obsessive or accused of being a stalker if you tracked every breathing movement the object of your desire made. You were just called a teenager, a normal teenager.
Yes, teenage love. First loves, even second loves, the reasons gothic romances and romcoms even exist. Without love we wouldn’t, couldn’t, be a nation obsessed with vampires. The creature that wants nothing more than to take his or her love drain him or her of their life force and make them live eternal. I mean, you really have to love someone to want to live out eternity with them. Right?
When you were a teenager you knew that loving someone and having that someone love you back was all that mattered. Mattered more than a perfect SAT score or an A in physics. You were willing to risk the F on your trig exam to talk to your sweetie for hours on the phone, now it would be chat or Skype, instead of studying.
How old were we when that day came and we decided that college or career or whatever else was more important than being in love? Was it after the first, second, third heart break?
By the way, I never had my heart broken. When I’ve been crushed by the person of my desire it was never my heart that broke. It was always my stomach. I love to eat. And can usually eat under any and all circumstance. After all, I am the daughter of a former exterminator who talked shop at the dinner table. Nothing stopped me from getting my daily bread down, not rat nor roach talk. Nothing but the love of my life telling me, “It’s quits.” That’s when the sight, the thought, of any food, even chocolate ice cream, made me nauseous.
So, there I went ahead and did it. I got all-sentimental on my ass….I guess, I just couldn’t figure out any other way on the day that florists and chocolate manufacturers make their fortunes– Happy Valentine’s Day.