Writer’s Corner: “How to Date a Boy You Hate for a Year and a Half” by Teddie Thompson

The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email features@scadconnector.com

“How to Date a Boy you Hate for a Year and a Half” by Teddie Thompson

Be nice to him. Sometimes lonely men will take any affection you throw at them and see it as romantic interest. Divvy out affection sparingly, otherwise, you’ll be swatting them off like horseflies. You laugh at his jokes because he’s funny, you smile at him because he’s nice, you talk to him because he’s your friend. You think you’re safe, you think the flirting is a joke. And then suddenly you’ve been dating for two months.

Four months in. You like him a lot, but is that enough? Maybe love is a skill, maybe it takes time to get good at it. Good at recognizing it. They say love is hard to understand, hard to identify. This could be nice, you tell yourself. Prince Charming, though he’s not very charming. Prince Adequate and Handsome could give you a stable life. You could be boring like your sisters and their husbands. You could go skiing and join the church and stay at home. That could be what love is. You have the sinking feeling, you know this flower isn’t going to bloom. You keep waiting.

Six months in. You’re waiting for it to feel like Jenna. The Greeks believed there are 7 types of love, maybe romantic love sucks more than platonic, affectionate or even pining love. She does that thing with her eyes when she’s sad, she smiles like the moon peeking over a canyon, and she does that vocal fry that makes you laugh every time. That’s a type of love. What does he do? Tell jokes you hate. That must be love too. Why can’t he just be her? Why can’t he make you feel like her? You just can’t grasp it. Maybe it takes time. Maybe there’s another shoe that needs to drop, someone’s holding the laces. Somethings gotta give, they say.

You told her, before you and he started dating. You told her everything, every pain and every triumph, the moment you saw her and you knew something you didn’t know. She thanks you, and lets you go. You try to let her go too.

Nine months in. He likes politics. He explains it to you, but you don’t have the energy to care or keep up with his mean friends that laugh when you ask “Who’s that?” at UN conferences. She loves explaining things, even if you ask her who the character you’ve seen a million times is, she laughs. Everything he shows you is fine, just fine. You like different movies, and different music, you’re only half-listening when he tells you about them. But when she says it, you couldn’t take notes that would rival your attention. No one’s ever told you you have good music taste, no one likes your movies, no one wants to do things with you. Not even him. But she does.

His birthday, 10 months. Give him gifts, be the best you can be. Tell him you love him. He’ll never say it first. Ask him about that, he’s vague in response. At dinner, tell your friends you’ve been thinking of breaking up with him. They say, you’re leading him on, he’s a good guy and you’re manipulating him. But no, you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It has it’s ups and downs, there are moments when you plan your wedding and moments when you draft a text that starts with “I’m sorry … ” Begin to have a general disregard for how he feels.

One year. Hate yourself, because you really do like him, just not the way you’re supposed to. Dislike talking to him. You feel like you’re lying. He’s boring and his jokes aren’t funny. The thought of “What if I never find another Prince Adequate and Handsome” kept you hanging on by a thread, but now its time to leave for college.

Break up. In the Starbucks drive-thru at 8:30 AM on June 1. Your friends have all gone to pride, maybe you’re jealous. They post coming out stories, and you realize that maybe you weren’t interested in men because you were with him, but you were barely with him. Maybe you don’t look at men because you’re over them. He would show you pretty girls, and you would agree. He would show you handsome men, and you nit-picked.

She’s dating someone now. You can’t tell if he’s actually an asshole, or if you just hate him because you wish you were him. But no, even her sister thinks he’s an asshole, and it’s a weird feeling. You know what she deserves, you’d give her the world if you could. But all you can do is smile, and hope she befalls the same fate you did.