In high school, I dated the same guy for a very long time. Two and a half years, actually. If someone had told me then that we wouldn’t be together by the time we were eighteen, I would have laughed in their face. It was a typical teen romance; I loved him, I really did, but we were so young and immature and unstable. I struggled with depression, body image issues, and bulimia. Looking back on our relationship, even though it was at times toxic and abusive, I can now laugh. Sometimes it was just so bad that all I can really do is laugh. The situations I found myself in are burned into my memory, and I figure I might as well relish them.

During September of 2010, we were about to enter our junior year. We always made it a point to see each other on the day before school started every year, and this day was no different. He was fifteen and I was sixteen, and neither of us could drive, so I got a ride to his house that afternoon and we made plans to go school shopping with his mom later.
His mother was something else. Beautiful, tall, blonde, and of direct European descent. She was a strong woman, a feminist, and never showed any flaws or cracks. However, when I arrived, she wasn’t there. Other than that, things were fine and we were getting along fine. He was distracted by his electric synthesizer that he’d picked up at a garage sale earlier that week and he was practicing “The Entertainer” to pass the time.

A few hours passed before his mom finally came home. When she came inside, she broke the news that she was too tired and it was too late to go school shopping. I wasn’t too concerned. I was sure I could find a way to get school supplies on my own. However, my boyfriend was livid. His mother tried to hold a conversation with him.
“How about we just go tomorrow?” She was trying to calm him down. “What do you want for dinner?”

He ignored her and started practicing “The Entertainer” on the keyboard again.

She asked him again. “Hello? I asked what you wanted for dinner.”

He stared down at the keys. He was hitting the wrong notes. He wasn’t playing the “The Entertainer” anymore, but a broken, manipulated version of it.

She said his name to try and get his attention, but he continued to play. “I see you’re showing Courtney your true colors, then. That’s fine.”
I tried to sink into the couch and become invisible, but I could tell it wasn’t working. She was getting frustrated and started screeching his name. She had never lost her composure in front of me until that point. She walked over in her stilettos and ripped the cord of the synth out of the wall. Strangely, he continued to hit the keys as if he was practicing “The Entertainer,” even though it wasn’t emitting a sound. His mom yelled his name a few more times before storming out the door of their apartment.
The clicking of the keys against the keyboard was the only sound in the room for a while. I stared at the back of his head from the couch. It was absolutely bizarre, dreamlike. I was in disbelief. How could he be so irrational and immature?
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He didn’t answer me and continued to “play” the keyboard. Any attempt at trying to communicate with him was hopeless. Not knowing what else to do, I left.
When I got down the steps of his front door, I realized I had no place to go. I had no means of transportation and I lived way too far away to start walking. I sighed heavily and flopped down on the grassy lawn. The sun beat down on my legs. I looked at my phone and wondered what my friends were doing. “Probably something normal”, I thought. I hoped for a text or a call, but none came. I worried about our relationship and what would happen to us. Once again, he had upset me. “Why am I doing this? Is it really worth it?” Myriads of questions flooded my mind. Sitting on that lawn, I felt alone, like the only person in the world. My own boyfriend wouldn’t even acknowledge the fact that I had left. A couple of minutes passed, but they felt like forever. I decided I had nothing better to do than to go back up the steps and back into the apartment.
I climbed up step by step and finally reached the front door, but I couldn’t get inside. He had locked the door on me. I pounded on the door, but there was no answer. All I could imagine was him sitting inside, alone, mashing the keys of that Casio piano. Fuming, I tried to figure out what to do. Suddenly, I remembered the spare key on top of the door frame. I reached and stretched as far as I could, but I just wasn’t tall enough to reach it. I looked around the porch and began stacking everything I saw: A skateboard deck, boogie boards, carpets that had been tossed. I stepped onto the pile and retrieved the key. Still enraged and fumbling, I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
To my surprise, he was no longer at the keyboard. He was sitting on the couch, staring at the ceiling. I stood in front of him and glared, speechless. When he saw me, he begged me to forgive him and went on about how stupid he was. “Stupid, that’s an understatement,” I thought to myself. I was absolutely disgusted by him. I had this looming feeling of dread, like something was wrong, but I pushed it aside. I told him everything was okay, and even though I wasn’t quite sure anymore, I knew we both wanted to believe it. We went on for a while longer after that, creating more ridiculous memories I’d never forget, but to this day, I still can’t believe how he acted that afternoon.