Boys: Here Today, Gone Tomorrow


In high school I burned through boys like a fuse to dynamite.  Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t the school slut…ha, not even by a long shot.  70% of the boys I crushed on were clueless I even had them in my radar.  They were yesterday’s news by the time they found out, if they ever found out.  My friends used to tease me about who the flavor of the week was.  I’d move from one extreme to the next. One week, Jockey Cocky.  The next week I’d crush on Creepy Poetic.  Sometimes I even flirted with Sappy Snooze, if the pickings were slim.  And if I really got brave, which never happened, I crushed on Hotpants  Deeppockets. (To this day I have a crush on Mr. Hotpants Deeppockets and he has the perfect soap opera name.)

For me, I got bored quickly.  In my mind I’d played out a lifetime of love, marriage, children and then inevitably divorced them, all in the span of week.  If they were lucky they’d last four in my fantasy head but that was rare.  Most of them never lived up to the potential I created for them or even worse, didn’t like me back in return. 

Well not much has changed today.  Oh don’t worry, hubby is here to stay.  He’s a keeper.  Instead of burning through boys, I burn through music.  I download something awesome every month.  In a matter of two weeks some songs get sixty or more plays, especially the ones that make feel like I’m crushing all over again.  I kind of feel sorry for the ones that don’t get played anymore.  It’s a graveyard of used up music that fed my muse for a time, then I discarded them, left to rot by the curbside.  There are a few I’ll drudge up and replay, kind of like drunk dialing, where I try to find that spark that ignited the fire to begin with.  For a brief moment I live in the haze of what once was.  But all good things must come to an end.  There it will sit, hidden away in some unused closet, like the tattered scraps notes, worn out concert tickets and ratty posters of boys.  Until next time, when it gets pulled out and dusted off.  I’ll smile as say “Man, those were some good times.”

That’s why I write YA, to recapture those completely unrealistic expectations and feelings, that at the time seemed totally rational.  How about you?