My First Valentine's Day
So, for our first Valentine's Day together (my first Valentine's Day with a boyfriend), there were no reservations at a fancy restaurant, just dinner at his parents house. His mom made a chicken and Stove-top stuffing with all the fixings. After dinner, Mike and I kicked back in his room where we listened to Pearl Jam's Ten on Mike's stereo, and he showed off some of the art work he had been working on. He was, and remained, quite a talented artist. Actually, part of my gift that year was an amazing drawing he'd created for me.
His bedroom was very artistically designed, as well. He had burlap covered walls on one side of his room, his art was hanging everywhere. He collected and created unique sculptures and displayed them on shelves. His room always smelled of incense. Another hobby of his was to gather large branches, skillfully carving and shaving the bark of these branches to create unique designs in the wood. As a fourteen year old girl with not a creative bone in her body, I was impressed by his artistry.
About halfway through Pearl Jam's debut album, I started feeling the aura of a migraine about to come on. I ignored it, trying to be cool and not look like a complete loser in front of my boyfriend, hoping the feeling would pass. But no matter how much I tried to push the feeling aside, there was no doubt that a fireball migraine was on its way. By the end of the CD, there was no denying my pain. The music seemed louder, the lights were that much brighter. I was almost in tears and asked Mike to turn down the blaring radio. He turned around to walk across the room, and that's when it hit me. A wave of nausea ran through my entire body. There was nothing I could do, nowhere to run. I turned around, frantically searching for a trash can, or anything else to contain what was about to happen, but it was too late. The closest target - his bed. By the time Mike turned around, I don't know if he quite understood what just happened, but there I stood, my hands over my face, and my dinner all over his comforter. Mortified at what just happened, I ran out of his room and down the hall. I slammed the bathroom door behind me and started to cry. He was never going to talk to me again. I knew it. I just threw up all over his bed, for God's sake. Girls don't burp in front of boys, so they certainly DO NOT throw up in front of them.
A few minutes passed, as I contemplated how I was going to jump out the second floor window without killing myself. Maybe killing myself wouldn't be so bad, though, since I never wanted to have to face Mike ever again. Before I could crack open the window, there was a knock at the door. It was Mike's mom, who said she had just called my mom to come pick me up, and asked if there was anything she could do. I just wanted to go home. And thankfully, ten minutes later, I did.
The next day, Mike called me on the phone to see how I was feeling. My migraine was gone, but I was still far too embarrassed to talk to him, so my mom relayed the message that I was feeling better and was taking it easy, but was too exhausted to come to the phone.
Mike and I wound up dating for another year and a half, and after that night, I learned that, no matter how much you wish you could melt into the floor, somehow you do not die from extreme mortification. Instead, that night gave Mike and me our own private inside joke.
And how was our next Valentine's Day, you ask? Well, once again we spent the night at his parents house, where his mom made us dinner. We wound up in the same spot, listening to the radio and playing video games, and no joke, I got another migraine. But, you'll be happy to know that this time, I made it to the bathroom in time.
Mike and I broke up a few months after our second Valentine's Day, but we continued to be friends. And every once in a while when we get the chance to talk, he'll ask me if I'm still allergic to Valentine's Day.