The Departed (A Love of My Life in Three Parts)

I was 17, and besides my first and short relationship with The Beautiful Puerto Rican, I was still shy and terribly inexperienced sexually. (Besides a one night stand with an older guy who took complete advantage of my 16 year old drunkenness…I still cringe when i think about what he did to me…nothing perverse, but nothing I wanted either…I suppose it was date rape, but that’s a whole other post.) There was a local dive that all the teenagers went to. Vic’s Moonbeam. It was a silver building with no fire exit and a few windows. Crowded from wall to wall with drunk teenage Brooklynites. They didn’t card a soul and I’m not even sure if the bartenders were of legal age.

I had gone there a few times with my girlfriends, looking to get drunk and possibly hook-up, but like I wrote, I was shy and didn’t realize how to use my sexuality or appearance to attract boys. One night as I was sitting in one of the three torn up booths, a guy approached my sister and me. He was 18, just graduated from one of the most prestigious Catholic BoysHigh School in Manhattan and I didn’t know it then, but a completely wild and self-destructive male. He asked us if we had any rolling papers, we responded that we did not, he said a few slurred words and was off.  Watching him walk away, I saw the danger and I wanted it. And him.

The next weekend came and went and there was no sign of The Departed. Another weekend flew by and I still couldn’t find him. The next weekend we met again. My mind is so foggy from all that I’ve been through, I can’t remember how we started talking or what happened to get us to leave together, but leave together we did. Much like The Beautiful Puerto Rican, I found myself on the hood of a parked car, making out like a mad woman with someone who would become a person to forever change my life.

The next week, unable to go to Vic’s for some stupid reason or another, i found out that he had made-out with a classmate of mine. Christina. I hated her. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but she was super smart, fun and had all of the confidence that I lacked. The next morning, my best friend MB, called me and broke the news. “Christina hooked up with The Departed.” I WAS FURIOUS. This girl had already swooped in on another guy in school who I was too afraid to approach and I wan’t going to let it happen again. I never got to thank Christina, for helping me find that confidence and aggression that  I was severely lacking.

Another week passed and another weekend at Vic’s was planned. The Departed was there. Christina was not. I sat with The Departed for most of the night, drinking and talking when he asked if I wanted to go for a smoke. Of course I did! We left Vic’s and turned onto the same corner where we had kissed a few weeks earlier. I pulled out a pack of Newports. He pulled out a perfectly rolled joint. I was, at that time, a smoker and a stoner, so that’s what we did. We smoked and got stoned and sat on the sidewalk and laughed and before we knew it we were on the soft row of grass that lines many Brooklyn neighborhoods (in the nicer areas) wrestling with each other, kissing and then back on top of another hood of someone’s car. (I can only imagine the imprints they awoke to as they blearily walked over to their vehicle, dreading work or bringing the kids to school or what ever it was that “grown-ups” did inside their cars as opposed to on top of them…)

A few days later he called. He wanted to hang out and bring a friend. I called MB. She was a known slut, so of course she was down to keep me company. The four of us sat on a park bench, getting stoned, telling stories, one upping each other and then we separated into the vast darkness of Marine Park.

He pressed me up against a tree and wrapped his arms around both of us. We were already in love. It was electric. Sparks were flying everywhere. Before I knew it, I had one more sexual act to check off my list. My first blow-job. Oh, man, I had no idea what I was doing, but he seemed to like it, so I figured I was doing it right. He came and I jumped away from the surge like it was toxic waste. He laughed, pulled up his pants, looked at his watch and we saw it was close to 3 AM. MB and her new friend were nowhere to be found. The Departed told me he would walk me home and he did–halfway. I remember thinking “I just gave this guy my first blowjob against a tree in Marine park and he can’t walk me all of the way home? What kind of shit is that?” I suddenly became conflicted.

“He’s leaving for college in a few weeks anyway, and I’m going into my senior year of high school, so fuck him!” I thought to myself. Until the next day when he called to apologize for not walking me home all the way. He admitted it was a dick move and wanted to know if I wanted to see him again, just the two of us. So we did. Back to Marine Park in the daytime, getting high, holding hands, and then of course, well…I don’t have to repeat myself.

When you’re a teenager, there aren’t too many places you can have sex with your boyfriend, I mean it’s not like “you’re place or mine?” Luckily, my Mom had converted the attic of our home into 2 bedrooms. One for me, one for my brother, separated by a hallway for privacy. My Mom was pretty naive herself and all she had to hear was that he was an Irish-Catholic and he was approved. I told her we were going to listen to music upstairs and she said she would call us down for dinner. That’s the first time we had sex and that was, non technically, my first apartment. That’s where we hung out. It was in the attic, so we could smoke out the windows and the smell wouldn’t travel down the attic stairway, secured by a door on the outside. We could roll around in my twin sized bed, throw blankets on the floor if we needed more room and man, it was fun. It was the first “real” sex I was experiencing.

Heartbroken, he had to leave for college a couple of weeks later. MB was still fooling around with his friend and I hung out with their group for a while. My “Gang” was still around, but there was football camp and new boyfriends and girlfriends and we were on our own that summer. Onto our own new adventures with out each other’s  protection or approval.  We said goodbye to each other and while he was away, I kissed one of his friends–ugh–this guy was a complete jerk. It’s a kiss I’ll regret forever.

About ten days later, I get a call from The Departed.

“Hey! How are you? How’s college?”

“I’m home.”

“What? For how long? For the weekend?”

“No, forever, I got thrown out.”

Classes hadn’t even started yet when The Departed attended a big Freshmen and got it into his mind that it would be a great idea to drive around campus, completely wasted in some girl’s car. Crash. Boom. Bang. Drove right into the Statue of some Saint standing right in the middle of the quad. Expulsion was immediate.

We were back in Brooklyn. And the stories continue…

Crash. Boom. Bang

Stay tuned for part two.

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7 thoughts on “The Departed (A Love of My Life in Three Parts)

  1. Thanks for visiting my blog. Excellent story so far. I can so relate to you at that age, really cute but totally naive in how to use those feminine charms. I’ve ended up with many guys who “didn’t walk me all the way home” while I searched for my self-confidence.

    • I got a little bored writing about the cancer, the cancer, the divorce, the divorce, so I thought I’d expand my topics. It’s a great release and a lot of fun to remember all of the details through this blog.

  2. Pingback: The Departed: Part II (Kurt and Courtney) | Tattoos & Tiaras

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