His relatives all agreed that he was still young and that he could start fresh somewhere where the rest of his family still lived. He was going to get all the love and support he needed with them.
I suppose I couldn’t argue with that logic. It didn’t make it any easier to handle the news.
I remembered standing there in my room looking at him and trembling in grief, asking, “What about me then? What am I?”
So what if I was being selfish and crying a little bit?
Alright, I was crying a lot. Emotional teenager plus heartbreak, you get the watershed.
Dominic was crying too, and looking torn.
He said, “Nysa, it’s my granmama, my only close family left. She wants to move back, and she wants me with her. She hasn’t been back home in forever, ever since she came to stay with us and took care of my mom when she was alive. She pretty much help raised me, and she was here for my dad when he grieved. She took care of everything. She took care of me. She still does, and wants too. I mean sure I have a large family waiting back in her hometown, but I don’t know all these relatives. But I know her, and she needs me to be there with her. Please, understand that I have to go with her.” He pleaded.
What could I say to that? Clearly, family comes first as opposed to a girlfriend of roughly three years. I didn’t do as much for him as his grandmother, and no I wasn’t being bitter. That was the plain hard truth.
His grandmother did sacrifice a lot for Dominic and his family, and she did it all out of love. And now she wanted to remain close to her grandson, the last inheritance worth holding on to her son had left on this earth.
Who was I to stop him anyway? Besides which, he was still under-aged, and under his grandmother’s care.
However it turned out or whatever we both might say otherwise, even with our own selfish teenage feelings and desires in the way, we both knew that Dominic would leave with his grandmother that very week. And I might never see him again.
That was my first break-up, and it was painful.
There were no hate or dislike involved, which made it hurt all the more because we both left still loving each other as well as we did then, which is a whole lot. We might have been too young to ever consider that love might be sacrificial in nature, but that day we came mighty close.
The last thing Dominic said to me as he held my hands that day after we both knew that we were not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore, was,
“You’re my special girl, you know. You’re my Nysa. That sweet girl I stalked around school because I liked you. I never had the nerve to go speak to any girl before, even thought there were a few I liked, until I saw you, and I thought, tomorrow, come what may, I’m going to go approach her at her table, and ask if she’d like to share my sandwich with me. Did you know that my mama helped me make those sandwiches? I told my parents about you. Mama laughed when she packed them for me and said, ‘If this girl you like will eat this sandwich you made like this and still will be your special girl, then honey she’s special indeed! She might not be the one you’ll end up marrying, but you have to know that she is a truly special one indeed. Treat her right and always be honest with her’. I just want you to know that even if we never see each other again, or you might end up making another man so happy one day by marrying him, that you will always be My Special One.”
Then he kissed me sweetly, and left.
I didn’t see him off at the airport either. We said everything there was to be said that day. But before he left my house that day, I did give him my favorite silver butterfly pin I almost always wear on my hair, and he promised to keep it always. Cheesy, sure, but it was what we did.
We were thirteen when we met, and we loved as well and as deeply as we could. It was bittersweet, but it was ours, and we wouldn’t give it away for anything in the world.
Dominic and I remained friends, even if not as close as we used to be.
We grew up apart and kept in touch sporadically throughout the years by e-mail. He was joining a field-team in archaeology last I heard, and things being what they were, I hadn’t received any news from him in two years now. He was probably in some remote area on Earth happily digging in the dirt or whatever.
I wished him the best in everything.
Sixteen, and I had my heart broken for the first time.
About eight years later, a man wearing sensible shoes, decked out in his sensible clothing and spotting sensible hair came knocking on my door, cradling my cat Spock in his arms. He starting talking to me about my favorite movies and went along with my antics.
His name is Peter.
…to be continued in last chapter…