Things I've Learned From Women Who've Dumped Me - Ben Karlin [69]
“I didn’t come all the way out here to date just one person, Harry.”
He pleaded with her to give him another chance, but she wouldn’t budge.
“Maybe after we graduate . . . if you’re ever in Charlotte,” she said. “But not now.”
Harry was sick to his stomach when he hung up, which did not deter Travis from telling him—with enormous pleasure—that Sybil had been dating an agriculture major on the nights she wasn’t seeing Harry. Oddly enough, Harry did not hold any of this against Travis. His friend, who was the school’s only male cheerleader, had suffered a series of romantic setbacks of his own, all with girls named Mary, and obviously took comfort in having some company.
Harry didn’t give up. The next night, he caught up with Sybil, who was on her way to rehearsals for The Seagull, and begged her to go out with him one more time.
“I have something to show you,” he said suggestively, “that I’ve never shown you before.”
She reacted to this with a little smile, indicating to Harry that the agriculture major had shown her all she needed to see. He trailed her across the campus, asking her if he could at least have a picture of her for his wallet, but she said she didn’t think it would be a good idea.
“Not even a picture?” he said, as she disappeared into the rehearsal hall. That seemed awfully cruel to him; spitefully, he made no mention of her in his favorable review of The Seagull.
He didn’t eat or sleep much in the weeks that followed. To Travis’s great delight, he could not even get fried chicken past his throat—the ultimate test of romantic misery. The other fellows in the rooming house gave him lots of room and lowered their voices sympathetically whenever he walked by. One night Harry ran into Sybil’s roommate, who looked him over quizzically and said, “You’re such a nice man,” which really pissed him off.
Soon afterward, Harry recovered slightly and took up with another drama student—from Wisconsin—who slapped her hips against his on their first date and led him into the woods. They made love virtually around the clock, in deserted classrooms, in the library, in the open fields. One result was that Harry came up with the worst case of poison ivy in the history of the school. He had to just lie there in the hospital under a sheet for days at a time. But none of this erased the memory of Sybil.
He saw her only one more time, dancing with the agriculture major at the senior prom, her face close to his, and her fingers on his neck. He was with the Wisconsin drama student, who looked great and was extremely jolly—but it didn’t help and he spent the evening with his heart in his shoes.
After he graduated, and in the years that followed, Harry continued to nurse the memory of his loss, like an old football injury. It’s entirely possible he got married because of Sally’s fairly close resemblance to his first love. Maybe there was more to it, but Harry didn’t think so. Thus, you could argue that Harry had had to endure an entire unnecessary marriage and have a child and then get a divorce—all because of Sybil. And she wanted to know if he remembered her.
Strangely enough—and call it ego if you will—Harry had always known that he would hear from Sybil. And maybe even get a letter from her, similar to the one he held in his hand. Each time Harry received a credit on a movie, or even a partial, he wondered if she had noticed his name on the screen. She was out there somewhere; surely she went to the movies. He didn’t see how she could possibly have missed his name entirely, particularly in the case of his two big pictures. The letter proved that she hadn’t. When she saw his name up there, Harry wondered if she had ever regretted her decision to dump him unceremoniously without so much as a farewell photograph.
Now that he had the letter, he could hardly wait for Julie to get back from the construction site so he could tell her about it. The great thing about Julie