Picture Perfect Romance

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The first time I saw him, he was dancing with a broomstick.

I thought this was pretty odd – I mean, if he was a girl, he could have pulled off the whole, “Oh, I’m Cinderella, ANGST, ANGST, ANGST,” mindset, but he was this fifteen year old boy, waltzing around the fucking garage with a broom, head bobbing as if to some imaginary music. Funniest thing though, when he looked up and saw me there, ‘cause his mouth went all gapey, like a goldfish or something, and he sort of fumbled the broom and ended up dropping it on the concrete ground. Made one helluva clatter, ‘cause somehow he managed to drop it onto a balancing can of paint, which smashed over, knocking into the table, which brought down a chisel too close to the edge, which-

Well, you get the idea.

I helped him tidy up a bit, but he was too busy stuttering and trying to push me away for us to do anything really. He couldn’t really push me around that well, either, ‘cause I had two years and about three inches on him. He hit puberty late or something, hadn’t got into his growth spurt then.

Anyway, he finally got me off to go see his brother, my boyfriend at the time, the garage was all tidy when I next came over, and he promptly made himself scarce whenever he saw me in the future. Whatever, I thought, and didn’t really bring it up again.

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Second time I saw him, proper, me and his brother had broken up, and stayed decent friends. Must have been a good three years later though, and I’d brought over the stuff from our university course for his brother to take a look at – PPE, baby, all the way. I walked into the kitchen, and there he was, sitting with his back against his fridge and eating ice cream like there was no tomorrow. His face was kinda splotchy, as if he’d been crying, and from the looks of it, he’d managed to smash his way through a good half the tub.

He’d just stuck another spoonful in his mouth, when I came in, and mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate ice cream that Mike was upstairs. I thought about asking what was wrong, but, y’know. Not my business. He had grown up though, I reckoned, even if he was acting like some fucking sissy with his tears. It was kinda weird to see that he’d be taller than me if he stood up.

I went upstairs, and Mike seemed to find it funny that he’d been crying. “His girlfriend broke up with him,” he explained as he took the notes. “They’d been together for two years, and he reckoned it was ‘true love’.” He laughed again, and I grinned too.

I dunno, though. Seemed kinda cute.

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I started talking to him after that, and we started dating a year later. It was… different, in a way, ‘cause he was younger than me, and he was all ‘emotions’ and shit, whereas I’d gone in for the more sports guys really. Emotions were not my piece of cake, but I put up with it.

He was too shy to ever, y’know, take the lead in anything, and that was right annoying. It was sorta lucky that I wasn’t the shy-and-sweet type though, ‘cause if I was nothing would have ever happened. I reckon we’d still be holding hands if he had anything to say about it – but he didn’t, so that’s okay.

And now we’ve been dating for three years, and he’s through uni. I’ve got a job, we’re living together and it’s all great. Still bloody annoying that I’m the one who has to go buy a ring, ‘cause he damn well isn’t going to take the initiative.

It isn’t a picture perfect romance, but it works, and I reckon that’s all that matters. Love’s what you make it, isn’t it?