Six months ago I met a cute boy at a party.
I couldn’t have been at a lower point that night. I’d just been dumped by my boyfriend of over a year and we’d ceased contact. I’d been on a string of meaningless hookups and a complete bender and I just missed coming home to my best friend. I’d gotten into an argument on the phone with my business partner on the way into this dingy looking warehouse party downtown. I just wanted to forget the horrible place I was in and was determined to numb with every substance possible.
Our mutual friend introduced us, said we’d be “perfect for each other”. I was anxious and twitchy and this cute guy was completely unimpressed. I tried to cheer myself up and shake hands around the party, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to be anywhere but there. I felt like Jenny in Forrest Gump during the drug scene, or Ginger in Casino when it all started falling apart, and spent part of the party looking for screencaps corresponding to my mood on my instastory.
It was late as all hell and time to go, and this cute boy and I couldn’t get our mutual friend to leave. The cute boy stayed for another 20 minutes and cancelled two Ubers just to wait. Our mutual gave me the key to his place and said to meet him there.
The cute boy and I shared an Uber home in the back of a Civic. As we drove through Downtown, the skyscrapers glittering past the windows, I looked across the backseat and saw him there with some goofy grin on his face. He was trying to be coy. I wanted to take him home.
He had the car drop him off at his place and drop me at my friend’s. That was that. I’d struck out again.
Walking home at 530AM that morning in the rain in sandals was horrible. My mind raced a million miles an hour and I started bawling at all my terrible choices and in pity for myself as I passed the apartment I’d shared with my ex for over a year. I wanted to knock on the door and throw myself at him. Promise to start fresh, hell I didn’t know. I hit rock bottom. He never made me feel like I was good enough. I cried myself to sleep and woke up the next morning, early, hungover and pissed.
The cute boy and I messaged each other over Instagram in the following weeks and months. He saw as I bumbled along, through dates and such, job upheavals, tragedies. He watched from a distance, like a scientist. Observing.
I was on a terrible date one night and it happened to be by this boy’s place. He invited me over and we hung out – yet somehow, I got curved again. I drove home, furious. I felt like a fool.
I did see him again though. We went to a concert that was magical. We started FaceTiming occasionally, which turned into every night before bed, talking for hours on end. I giggled – GIGGLED.
We spent more nights together. We started going on cute adventures. Slowly, I felt the horrible experiences and habits of the past year fade away.
Goddamn we look so cute together.
When I got into a fistfight with my best friend, he came over. He held me, told me sternly about the consequences, but with warmth and compassion.
“You take care of everyone. But who’s taking care of Wyatt?” he asked.
I was stumped, and also floored at his gentleness. No boy had ever been this nice to me before.
The adventures became more elaborate. He surprised me on his rooftop with an incredible display, and asked me to be his boyfriend. Nobody’d ever *asked* me before. I accepted, wholeheartedly.
For the first time, I wanted to be better. I have someone to be better for. And I look forward to each day, because just his presence makes it better.
Six months ago I met a cute boy. He healed my broken heart and tortured soul. He’s made me a better man.
Six months ago I met a cute boy at a party. And my heart is soaring.
