Against All Odds
It happened on the dance floor of my eighth grade cotillion. My boyfriend of six months broke up with me and it went down like this. We slow danced as Phil Collins pledged his love in “Against All Odds”. The lights were dimmed save for the sparkle of the rotating mirrored globe on the ceiling casting blue flecks across the hopeful face of my beau. And then he said it,
“When are we gonna go to 3rd base?”
“Umm neVER!” I blurted. At thirteen I knew that we’d of course be together forever, but the thought of progressing our physical relationship past french-kissing and holding hands hadn’t infiltrated my naivety.
“Then I need to break up with you.” he said flatly and with that dislodged from our slowdance embrace and walked away into the cavernous dark stretch of the dancehall.