My Valentine's Day that Wasn't


Never trust your instincts after a drawn-out breakup of a long term romance. Yes, you can certainly trust that it should be over and that you should move on. But NEVER trust it when a man you haven't even SEEN in a dozen years insists you fly out to visit him. At your own expense.

Now, I had known Will (who for purposes of this story will be henceforth known as Won't) since 6th grade. We'd been sorta the Bruce and Demi if you will of Magnolia Park Elementary School. I'm not saying I was Miss Thang, but while I did hold my own (my awkward stage was a little less awkward than that of some), Won't was, without question, King Shit of our school. So naturally, it was wonderful in that 11-year-old kinda way. Yes, there were trials and tribulations and it ultimately ended very tragically (I was too afraid to french-kiss him so I lied, explaining that I really just couldn't commit to one man, since gosh, I liked so many)...

Fast-forward to Valentine's Day, 1997. I had recently called Won't up out of the blue and he had seemed nothing less than intrigued and thrilled. It was certainly wonderful reminiscing and soon he was inviting me to Miami for a visit. Considering my newfound single status, I thought "what the hey" and off I flew. At my own expense. Mind you, it's not the money that I'm talking about here,­ it's the principle. You may argue if you like, but I stand by my conviction that the inviter should pay in such situations, if for no other reason than to demonstrate GOOD WILL (or in this case, GOOD WON'T).

Well, let's just cut to the chase. Sure, Won't was attractive in a way, though not really my cup of chai. I found his apartment, car, clothing and friends to all be very "of the moment" and he seemed very image-conscious, which of course is nothing like me. (That may sound facetious, but I actually mean it and since you don't know me, you just have to believe what I write.) He wasn't my dream man by any stretch of the imagination, for he was a Coral Gables-livin', expensive sports car-drivin', martini-drinkin', cigar-smokin' s.o.b. We had little in common and our once pleasant rapport was replaced by a rather strained discomfort. But it was Valentine's Day and I was free at last, so I figured a completely mindless romp with a nostalgic figure from my past would be better than nothing.

‘Twas not to meant to be, for after walking 5 feet ahead of me from the parking lot to the car (which I pointed out), and not "getting" me, thinking I was serious several times when I was only joking, the final straw came when we were "enjoying" dinner with some of his "friends." Won't was paying very little attention to me so finally I asked what was going on. His reply: "You really just have a way of getting under my skin."

Ahhh, nostalgia. ‘Tis certainly bittersweet indeed. In that moment, Won't went from my sweet precious young love of yesteryear to just a big fat jerk.

The next morning he asked what I'd like for us to do that day. I said, "Well, I don't know what YOU'D like to do, but I'M leaving." So I drove to a resort on Marco Island with my favorite Miami bartender, Joe (which is really another story altogether).

While I considered invoicing Won't for my airfare, in the end I decided it was better to simply forget my Valentine's Day that Wasn't with Won't.

- by Linda Abbott, Featured Guest Writer.

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