It wasn’t that I loved her. I mean, hell, I liked the girl a lot. But love man, that’s something else. As cliché as it sounds, I’m not even sure I know what love is? I know, if love is within my realm of possibilities, I suppose you could say I love my parents, in that parental sort of way. And, oh yeah, of course my dog. But that’s a copout if I ever heard one.
Anyway, this girl… this woman… whatever… I’ll call her what she is - my ex. She and I, we were great together. I was young, dumb and horny. She was young, pretty and willing. And on top of all else, she was genuinely interested in me. And my ideas. My feelings. Me, in general. Shit, I have yet to find that quality in another woman. When I asked “guess what I did today,” she’d actually guess. She’d say “you played basketball,” or “you passed your geometry exam.” It was never, “I don’t know… what?” accompanied by an uncaring shrug while fixated on her favorite soap. I never had to ask for help or beg for attention. She just knew. She knew when I was depressed. Knew when I screwed up at school. When I had a fight with my parents. I look back now, and as corny as this is, I’d say she was the Mother Teresa of girlfriends. I mean, marriage was no where on the horizon and the dreaded “L” word was never once uttered, but if I, as a person, as a man, am going to be forced to spend the remainder of my life with someone, her I hated the least.