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Falling and failing

Illustration by Emily Davidson.
(Illustration by Emily Davidson)

The seven-day-soulmate, by Charlotte Kiddell 

Day one: Assume he’s gay, based on sassy dance moves and frequent “Hey girl!” exclamations. Ditch on dance floor to seduce resident heartthrob.

Day two: Hear that he hit on my sister the night before. Still think he’s gay… albeit confused.

Day three: Bond over Community.

Day four: Become best friends.

Day five: Get too drunk. Fall over frequently. Be incredibly emotional from pressure of dysfunctional family holiday and epiphany that my current relationship is close to ending. Have an emotional breakdown and bawl in his presence for hours. Hook-up with resident heartthrob: sloppily and drunkenly.

Day six: Confess my drunken hook-up. Apologize for my emotional breakdown. Realize I have feelings for him. Distress and despair about his preference for my sister. Admit this. Am amazed to discover that I am the one that he truly wants. Spend the next five hours kissing.

Day seven: Departure day. Spend the day hungover, exhausted and missing him. We text and he feels the same. Suddenly soulmates. Smoosh.


Summer sax secrets, by Rosalie Fralick

The summer before my senior year of high school, a local jazz sax legend returned from his first year at Berklee. Young and naïve, I fawned over him and his unbelievable talent and we started what I would tentatively call a summer fling.

One bright, sunny, hungover day in late June I ventured downtown to see him play a noon show in the nauseating sun. He hugged me, kissed my cheek and introduced me to his mother; it was all bliss. That evening, we were chatting, and I asked when his next gig was: “Well, I leave for Korea tomorrow for six weeks, so probably when I get back.” This was news to me.

I wouldn’t say I pined, but I stayed up many a night to talk to him when he rolled out of bed at 2 in the afternoon (the time difference is 13 hours). The final blow came in August when he dropped the bomb in casual conversation. He was going to Japan for a week to visit his GIRLFRIEND. Turns out he had had a girlfriend at Berklee (a prodigy, by the way, who already had two albums on a major Japanese jazz label, at 20 years old) the entire time, and neglected to tell me. Sometimes it’s best to believe what you’ve heard about a person’s reputation… lesson learned.


Valentines makes me sick, by Leah Stall

I had only been dating my boyfriend for a few months before it was time for Valentine’s Day. I was still in the process of trying to impress him when he took me out for a romantic dinner. Everything was going well until our main meals came; I started to feel a little bit sick, but I just blamed it on my nerves. As soon as we were done our meal, I knew I wasn’t just nervous. Turns out the smoothie I’d had earlier in the day did not sit well with me, and for the rest of the date I was confined to the restaurant’s bathroom. Now that’s what I call romance…


Pipe dreams, by Scruffy MacMinster

Her name was Nessie. She was as elusive and mystical as a giant loch monster. We were in the local pub, “William Wallace’s Spleen,” each having a pint of scotch. I asked for her name and I’ll ne’er forget the nine beautiful words she said next: “None of your f@#$ing business you tosser, piss off!” I tried everything but no amount of fried blood or sheep intestine would sway her. The barman came by and I asked for advice. He said “Scruffy you drunken sod, you’ve been talking to the urinal for 45 minutes. Go home.” It may have just been a urinal, but damn if that wasn’t the best relationship I’ve ever had.

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