Bad Come and Go, But the Best Stay (standard:poetry, 805 words)
Author: Puck	Added: Mar 08 2001	Views/Reads: 3686/2192	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A poem about boyfriends

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


I gave him a smile and his split. 

He gave me his pager number. 

That was May of 97. 

4. 

January 1st, 1998. 

A few too many shots of Smirnoff 100, 

parents were out of town for the weekend, 

and Catherine kept telling me how much fun 

it was. I had told my mom I’d wait ‘til 

I was 18, but I was drunk, and it sounded 

Like the best idea in the world. Mike wasn’t 

one to complain, just asked me 100 times 

if I was sure, after the 100th yes, it happened. 

And it was gone, virginity is like that. 

So was love. 4 months later he was gone. 

The day after prom too, if you can believe it. 

I sure as hell couldn’t. I remember Limp Bizkit 

on his 97 royal blue Grand Am’s radio 

telling me I had to have faith. Faith in what? 

5. 

February 10th, 2001. 

It was beyond cold, and Brian wanted 

me to get out of the warmth of the truck. 

To sit on the tailgate of his truck. We played 

Our game of “I love you, I love you more.” 

Only this time when I said “Prove it,” 

he stood up in front of me, 

his voice shaking, I knew what he was going 

to do. He bent down and kissed me, held out 

a diamond ring. I cried and held him, I must 

have said yes four times. 

6. 

I remember Eric drove the exact same 

truck Brian does. Same year, color, interior. 

But Eric wasn’t love either. Eric was lust. 

A salesman at work, Best Buy’s computer department. 

A salesman at heart. He knew what to say and how 

to get what he wanted. I was drawn in, held there, 

chewed up, then spit out a few months later. 

Why do girls always think they can change a guy? 

We can’t. I know, I’ve tried. He did have the charm. 

My 19th birthday in Windsor, Ontario. 

He showed me the time of my life. 

I’ve never been so drunk, the flashing 

strobe lights at Bentley’s, those huge 

pitchers of Sex on the Beach, Killer Kool-Aid, 

and Long Island Ice Tea. And my first 

tastes of  Mike’s Hard Lemonade and 

the green Kamikaze that tasted like green 

Sour Patch Kids. I don’t remember much after that. 

7. 

Sitting here now, I thumb through the 

brown leather photo album Brian made 

for me this past Christmas. I look at 

the past two years of the life we had 

together, caught on a photograph for all to see. 

I read the letter he taped to the inside cover, 

The last four sentences capture me: 

“But the best thing 

about this book is the last half of it. I know it’s 

empty and it was left that way for a reason. 

To fill it up with memories to come. There 

are a lot of pages though, so I think that means 

we have a long way to go.” 

I think of his proposal, and the loves that 

have come and gone. His words replay in 

my head. This is love. 


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