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May 16, 2012
R. got in a bike accident, a collision with a car that sent him flying and broke several ribs. A little later, we drove to Cornwall together. It was May, but the sand still had the coolness of spring. We paddled in waves, drank wine, and savored our solitude. I turned and smiled into his shirt. We ate ice cream and with sticky fingers returned to our hotel room.
We kissed, before simultaneously noticing a small bird perched outside, watching quizzically. Laughing, we moved to the bed. I was on top of him, moving carefully, when he winced and reached for painkillers. I rolled off the bed and ran a bath for both of us. Leaving him to grow wrinkled, I threw on a light dress and got ready.
As we were leaving for dinner he glanced at my feet. “White sandals?”
I looked down. “Yes?”
“They’re very... white,” he laughed. “I I’ve never seen shoes that bright before.”
I frowned. They were a cheap, impulse purchase. I studied them closely, and they looked cheap and impulsive. Suddenly, with absolute certainty, I despised them, and they didn’t like me either, pinching at my feet like small pecking birds.
I wanted to act content, but I was hurt. Like his "teenager" comments, he'd turned me against myself. I hated my shoes and him for mocking them. Our conversations were usually fun and meandering, but now, I started arguments for the sake of it.
“Are you annoyed with me?” he asked as we walked home.
“No.”
But by then the wine had sedated me, mellowed me out a bit. The shoes were still technically on my feet, but had already mentally been discarded, never to be worn again.
“Well, that ruins my theory,” he said. “No one ever argues about what’s actually on their mind.”
“I like that theory,” I said, too proud to admit it applied to us an hour earlier.
One night we met my ex, his best friend, the one who had introduced us. He had taken the news of our relationship well initially, but that evening was a different story. The meal ticked by slowly. Without provocation, he made a snide remark about R.’s salary, or, more accurately, the lack thereof. It was rude, but I let it go. He clearly wanted to feel some semblance of an upper hand, but really, he needed only to wait a few more weeks. R. and I split up as my job in New York became a reality.
“I just don’t see the point in a relationship with an expiration date,” he said flatly.
“We could try long-distance,” I offered optimistically, but as I uttered the words I knew it would never work. I liked him, admired him, but I didn't want to be with him forever.
I congratulated him, but I was struggling with this neat conclusion of loose ends. It felt like a bad Woody Allen movie.
We met up in New York a year later. There was no awkwardness or tension, just the fondness that comes from a relatively mutual breakup. It was a balmy September evening, so we sat outside and drank beer. He told me he was engaged to the ex who looked like a swimmer and that my ex was the best man. I congratulated him, but I was struggling with this neat conclusion of loose ends. It felt like a bad Woody Allen movie. I was thinking about the big day, the inevitable jokes in the best man’s speech. A speech I wouldn’t hear. For a fleeting moment I felt like the odd one out again, just as I had on New Year’s Eve. But things weren't the same, I realized with relief.
Sitting across from R., our roles had changed. Now I was the one regaling him with tales, talking about the best summer of my life. In the year since our breakup I had moved to New York, knowing only two people, and thrown myself into new experiences, saying yes to every invitation until I was exhausted, but finally driven, no longer directionless. Dating R. had highlighted what I was seeking in my own life, a life that had felt decidedly sanitized and predictable compared with his. But it no longer felt that way. I couldn’t see the future on that September night, how much worse it would get before it would gradually improve, and keep on improving. I could only look backwards and realize how far my life had unfolded since my break up with R., how much I had grown by understanding life doesn’t develop neatly and according to plan. My life didn't look exactly like a hazy yellow picture from the carefree '70s, but it was starting to develop some frayed edges, and the character and direction I'd always wanted it to have.
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Commentarium (43 Comments)
love. love. love.
Absolutely LOVED this article. Takes me back...
Brilliant Hannah xxxxx
Someone's been taking Intro to Creative Writing...
Yep.
"I had a wildly idealistic view of what being a couple entailed, a hazy picture with faded yellow edges: a couple reclining, reading, limbs tangled in a pile of supine contentment."
Look, I'm doing an MFA in creative writing and lemme tell ya: restraint is a virtue.
Someone's jealous.
Dick.
Some writers enjoy the nostalgia and lyricism they create in their prose.
You write first for yourself, then the audience.
In pursuit of your masters, have none of your professors imparted the joy you should first get from your writing, and completely neglected to teach you as the audience to appreciate the voice, --sometimes liberal use of words, or imagery, of the author?
If you're going to write primarily for yourself, don't spooge it on the public and hope for a positive pr bounce.
They also imparted on me a sense of restraint and a realization that overt artifice alienates the audience by drawing attention to itself.
And you write for yourself when you are writing in your journal. When you write for an audience you are trying to reach out and connect with your readers. Ultimately it's about taste, and purple prose may be your thing, but it kept me from finishing the piece.
HAHAH Gila Monster. You slay me.
Boring, boring, boring. Talk about a girl story-all feelings and emotions. Nothing of substance. How about just a little physical love instead of repeatedly telling us how you felt like the odd one out....
geeesh!
What is more boring is reading about you moan! If you weren't enjoying it just pick up another story and move on. Get a life Irving!! geeesh
Wow, I liked the story...but even if I hadn't, that's way too harsh for a decently written story that's MEANT to be about love and emotions!
since when is 10 years a significant age gap?
Is not about the years in the gap, is about being in very different phases in life.
Depends on which 10 year gap you're talking about.
35-45, maybe not that big of a gap.
25-35, different universes.
One of the best relationships of my life, I was 32 she was 23, no issues at all that were age related, other than her teasing me about being old. Other than that it never came up, my friends were surprised she was so young, her friends were surprised I was in my 30s.
BUT - same stage, both highly driven professionals, with similar interests.
Meanwhile I've dated people my age where we had MAJOR issues due to being in different places, ditto for a woman who was older than me.
Once you're an adult it's about stage in life more than age.
Totally agree with you Auld Fart (lol). Being in your twenties and dating someone in their thirties is way different than 40s and 50s.
James, most people say "age ain't nothing but a number" believe me, age matters!
And don't even talk about the 11-21 pairing.
wow 35 is an 'older man'.. 10 years is not that big an age difference, jeez.
True, but that's a pretty big 10 years. Not quite like 25 and 15, but no so inconsequential as 45 and 55.
ten years isn't a huge age gap, but it's still a notable gap. loved it. related to it. what a gorgeous window of a very specific time in ones life.
daaang 10 years is like undergrad and graduate school plus a post doc lol.
gross.
after 72 the 70s felt cramped, hopeless, expectations lowered all the way into the negative zone. by 78 the fundies had found the megaphone and taken over. they were loud and mean, and wanted the world to be a mean place. 70s had all of the 60s irresponsibility, except without the redeeming politics. the 70s were pure mistrust, shitty drugs, harrowing stds, style taken back from the kids and handed over to the corporations for commoditization. the adults took back over, and they were mad and wanted vengeance. the 70s are the pole frame building and the enormous asphalt parking lot. the world finally began to get over all this about-- 88. longing for the 70s is like longing to be in the shrunken present without decent coffee & food & hbo. remember: nostalgia is the DISEASE of memory.
I think I love you.
I'm 25 right now and dating 35 year old. From that perspective, I think this story is more about dating a jerk. My boyfriend enjoys my stories and has frequently said that he likes that he can learn things from me. With that being said, I thought this story was an interesting read.
I enjoyed the story too, and I also agree: more about dude being a jerk than a real age difference. I started dating my partner when I was 16 and he was 25 (a mature student in university, b/c he had take some years off to travel between high school and post-secondary), and now we are 37 and 46 respectively, with a child. Although we were both well read and "precocious" for our respective ages back in the day (me more so than him, LOL), aside from musical taste, there never really seemed to be a significant generational gap, even with additional factors like his having travelled (not the case for me, at the time). When you click, you just click, I guess. It helps when the guy is not a douche, obvs.
What color is that? If it is Tina Louise, shouldn't it be Ginger [capital G]? Ginger on a sushi plate is pinkish and no one's hair is that color. Someone needs an editor. Can you tell that I am annoyed that people who use Ginger to mean redhead were ten years from being born when Gilligan's Island went off the air?
Ginger in the Brit sense, she means. You know, like Hot Prince Ginge, Harry.
When I was nearly 17 I dated a man twice my age. Many accuse this man of taking advantage of me, but in reality I took advantage of him. He was a new professor in the college town I had lived in my entire life. A transplant, he needed someone to show him around. He understood my frustration of being young, and he helped me experience the adult life that I yearned for. Our secretly romantic relationship was brief, but our friendship lasted afterward. I understand much of the dissatisfaction the author felt, but I think a lot of it was self inflicted.
Hannah Sloane, what a beautiful name.
+1 for "he was a jerk who is not representative of a group of people". my husband is 14yrs older and we get along great. i've dated guys my own age, and find them to be more jerky per pound. something happened in that 14 years where he figured some shit out and chilled out, that has yet to happen for a lot of guys my age.
I'm currently in a relationship with a guy 13 years older than me (I'm 19 and he is 32), and that white sandals comment really struck home. Sometimes he makes small comments that make me feel like I have to second guess myself. I think because of this, I sometimes start irrational arguments too.
Ten years is not so significant, unless you're dating a douche who uses that gap to lord it over you. I'm 11 years older than my husband and 21 years older than my other partner (yeah, open marriage). Main difference between us seems to be I have way more stories than the boyfriend, is all. Husband had an extremely varied life before we got together and has at least as many tales as me.
More significant than a ten year age gap is, as some have mentioned above, is whether or not one or both of you are dicks. That's something that seems to be lost on dating site profiles where both the guys and girls limit their "looking for" ages to within three years of their own age. It's possible to still date a dick that's three years older than yourself, ladies.
I
Dated a boy five years older than me when I was 27 and he was a bit of a dick about making me feel young and sometimes dumb. He'd say things like "when you get to my age..."
So yeah, dicks are dicks, no matter the age difference.
I am 42 and am dating a 22 yr old woman. I have to admit that there are times I catch myself talking to her as a teenager. I make mistakes but she has been good with telling to stop. But there are times wher she does the same. The most important thng is to try and remember why you got together in the first place.
This story isn't really about age. It's about a pretentious tool who was condescending, making the author feel insecure. Maybe the author wasn't confident enough to make "R" feel equally stupid. 25 and 35 is basically the same age bracket. I only date older men and I find that being patronized is an invitation to play a game of wit.
ITA
I got together with my now-husband when I was 21 and he was about to turn 33. We're now 30 and 42 and have been married for 6 years. Naturally I had some growing up to do, but so does any 21-year-old, and I'm really glad I had a role model and a cheerleader in that regard, because now I've made it to 30 and am the happiest I've ever been in my life. Of course my husband is a saint for having put up with my immature shenanigans back then, but he knew as well as I did that our relationship was for real, and worth it. My aunt thinks we're bizarre and still judges us for being in a relationship that "doesn't make sense" <---- so weird!
I agree with Bibi that this story really ISN'T about age.
25 year old women ditch their shoes because their boyfriend said something shitty about them and it made them feel bad.
35 year old women keep the shoes and ditch the boyfriend.
I read this article and can totally relate to it. was dating someone alot older few months back it ended in disaster !