11 Year Old Heartbreak

May 28, 2010
By summmeresque BRONZE, Tappan, New York
summmeresque BRONZE, Tappan, New York
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

“Today will be the first day of the rest of my life,” I said, anxiously browsing through my closet. Would he like me wearing the blue blouse with the diagonal black lines? Or maybe the black silk blouse with the white polka dots? The clock read 4:30 P.M., hauntingly reminding me that I still had so many things to do in so little time since my “date” with the infamous Johnny C. was at 5:30 P.M. under the swing sets at College Bandle Memorial Park. Unable to decide what to wear, I bit my nail beds anxiously. Five minutes later, I was about ready to break them off because I came to realize that if Johnny tried to hold my hand, he’d see how ugly my nail beds were and would thus find them unattractive.

I could replay the life changing moment in my naïve mind—the moment when the dreamy Chap asked if I would meet him under the swing sets located at the east end of the park. He was considered the other half of every girl' heart and the perfect read to every girl's favorite book.

“That’s where all the big kids go,” Marianna B. exclaimed as she, too, was surprised that Johnny asked me. Wearing my favorite pair of cut-up khaki shorts and my long sleeve navy blue thermal, I took a good look at the person staring at the six foot-tall mirror hammered onto my periwinkle wall.

Looking at myself nervously, I whispered, smiling, “Today will be the first day of the rest of my life.”

With the insides of my stomach doing gymnastics, I made my way to the park. The weather was pretty humid, which only added on to the sweatiness of my tiny, fragile hands. My knees wobbled like trees in a windy storm, but I tried to pay close attention to the rhythmic melody of the bluebirds’ chirps.

When I got to the park, however, I realized that it wouldn’t be the first day of the rest of my life. For three hours, I waited for the infamous Johnny C., hoping that the boy on the bike with the navy blue Yankees cap would be him. Or maybe the one after him. Or the one after him. But it never was, and as I sat on the painted black wooden bench, I cried, unprepared to experience my first heartbreak at eleven years old.

The author's comments:
I was asked to write a vignette in my creative writing class and thought this piece to be ideal.

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