By Sasky Louison
I was five years old when I had my first boyfriend. He too was five and no, I was not easy. Let’s get that straight from the beginning. I was not easy and never ended up being easy and so what if I was easy! I can do whatever I want with my vagina. It is my vagina and I love it! However, I was young and stupid and had every right to be. I was five for goodness sake and although there are many child prodigies bouncing around in the society at large, I was a late bloomer so I was never one of those kids.
My breasts never grew as fast as my friends, I always got jokes about five minutes after everyone, I sat my drivers theory test four times before I passed and I just found out that humans have two lungs and not one, hence why lungs is plural and not singular…
You can take a break to ponder on how slow I am…
I don’t know. I think it’s my brain. It works a bit slower than normal folk in everything…especially relationships.
Imagine, a 28-year old spending her spare time sitting in a coffee shop, pretending to read a biology book (that’s how I found out about the lung thingy) eavesdropping on first time date conversations, and laughing in her head. Try it sometime. Oh! It’s atrocious! When you really think of the conversations people have on first dates, it is just simply pathetic. It is also embarrassing if you have to hear yourself and funny if you are like me who have given up on relationships altogether.
Like why? Why must we make this so difficult? Why can’t we just procreate like beasts of the wild and go on living without falling in love and pledging your life to someone forever, knowing that forever is never?
So! Here I am sipping on my hot chocolate because I hate coffee, listening to this guy tell this girl about his dog called Rover, (he’s definitely not getting a second date) when it hit me! Not like a ton of bricks but more like the light bulb turning on in your head, an ah-ha moment thingy.
I noticed a pattern in all my relationships and it was then I realised that Simon (my boyfriend when I was 18) was not my first boyfriend! OMG! I had many boyfriends before that but because we never kissed or made out, we were never an “item.” But we were! And I kept making the same mistake over and over without realizing it.
Aaron was actually my first boyfriend as far as I could remember. At the time I did not even know he was my boyfriend but our relationship ended in a huge quarrel so he must have been! Right?
He sat next to me in Stage One. Stage One is equivalent to Kindergarten in North America but in St. Lucia where I grew up we called it Stage One. Makes sense huh? Stage one, first learning stage in life blah blah blah. You get the point.
Anyway. I was a little black girl and he was a little white boy from England. I did not understand the male species then (well still up to this day, I do not understand them). To me, men are just creatures with penises and balls and as they get older they get fur on their chest and face and elsewhere (wink wink). They all have hidden agendas and I never notice until it is too late…because I’m a late bloomer.
This nincompoop (my first boyfriend) started talking to me because of my eraser. It was actually my mothers and it was a typing eraser. You know back in the day people had typewriters and there was no delete button so you just erased the mistake and typed over it.
Well, I always liked to be different from everyone. I liked things a bit more stylish and expensive so I took my mothers typing eraser to use at school while everyone used their boring (and ghetto) white and blue erasers.
My eraser was a soft pink and it looked similar to a pencil. Where the point of the pencil would be is where the rubber was and you could sharpen it. The eraser also had a brush at the top that could be used to dust off the eraser debris thingy. I erased with style and purpose. Oh how I loved it!
Aaron saw my eraser and decided to befriend me. He said “I like your eraser. Can I borrow it?” And because Jesus said we should share and be nice to the less fortunate, I said “Sure!” And we became friends. Just like that.
I was a nice girl. I watched as he purposely made mistakes just to use my eraser.
“It’s my mothers.” I said to him after a while.
“Really?” he responded. “My mother has erasers like that too. She has a pink and a blue and a red and brown and a green…” He went on to name all the colors in the world.
Now forgive me but I was impressed!!! All these colors? Damn! I realized that I love a man with more than one eraser! And then he did it. He made me an offer I just could not refuse. He asked “Why don’t you give me your eraser and I bring nicer colours for you?”
I liked my nice soft pink colour but I could not help and become enamored with the possibility of all the variety of colours I could have! My classmates would think I was rich! So I exclaimed “Sure! Keep the eraser and bring the others for me the next day!”
Well, it was a scam! The next day he forgot. The day after that he forgot again. The day after that he forgot again. The day after that he forgot again. The day after that…you guessed it: he forgot again! By then I was fuming because I was had become the common girl; erasing my work with a cheap ass ghetto eraser.
Two weeks later I was certain that I had been fooled so I went to my big sister and told her what he did to me and that “I wanted my eraser back right now!” I wanted her to beat him up for me.
She went to speak to him after school but the little fucker!!! It was the first time I heard lies spew from a creature with a penis and balls and soon to have fur. Someone had to hold my little five year old body back. He told my sister that he didn’t understand why I kept losing my stuff. I screamed “WHAT???!!!” I was dumbfounded.
The little asswipe told my sister, that he brought many erasers for me and I kept losing them. He said he brought me a pink and a blue and a red and brown and a green and he went on to name all the colors in the world. I screamed “That’s not true!” Oh, but the little pygalgia had convinced my sister and she told me that I should “be more responsible and take care of my things!” I screamed at him saying “I hate you!” And he said
“OK. OK. I will bring one more for you. If you lose it again that is your fault.” And you know what? I believed him! I believed the con artist!
You should know that he never brought it and in class I began to imagine him getting all his homework wrong and I am the only one who can help him and he looks up at me in despair, begging, pleading for help but I look at him with my death look, and I hiss to him “No! You stole my eraser and I hate you!”
All my relationships ended a little something like this but it was never over something as complex as my eraser but rather over simple stuff like my virginity, and my heart, and my supposed to be best friend, and deepest secrets etc.
It would always end with me imagining my ex-boyfriends being in despair, sometimes hanging from the edge of a cliff, begging me to save them but I do what Scar did in the Lion King. I tell them “No! You lied to me!” And I scratch their fingers to watch them fall. Or “No! You broke my heart!” And I scratch their fingers to watch them fall. Or, “No! You took my virginity and then tried to get with my best friend. Or “No! You said you’d call and never did.” Or “No! You told everyone my secrets.” Or “No! You should have told me you were gay!” Or “No! No! No! No!!!” And then, I scratch their fingers and watch them fall while Kenny Rogers, The Gambler plays in the background and I walk away in slow motion.