The ‘Cuban’ was a meaningless (but kind of necessary at the same time) chapter of my life. You see, I was 14 years old and in my 9th grade. All of my friends were getting boyfriends and having their first kiss, they texted boys back and forth all the time, and I was just there, single and text-less. So, when I was sitting on the steps of my school one afternoon with my best friend and this new foreign student walked by and stared at me the entire time, I decided to take action.
I was 14, though, so when I say ‘take action’, I mean that people started spreading the word ‘oh, I hear Cuban is interested in Isis’ ‘I think she’s interested too’, blah blah, until it reached his ears. It all happened very fast, actually. He asked me to ‘take a walk around the school’ with him (unfortunately, it was how we all spent all of our recesses), told me he liked me, and kissed me.
My first kiss was nothing wonderful and romantic. It was just that, a kiss. I was inexperienced, so I basically just did whatever he did and prayed to God it was okay. It started open-mouthed right away, and then he just got his tongue in the mess and I just thought ‘to hell with it …’
We became boyfriend and girlfriend after that, but the relationship only lasted three or four months, until I graduated middle school and went to my 10th grade (first year of high school), leaving him behind. Oh right, did I mention he was one year younger than me, therefore in his 8th grade? Right. Also, I didn’t get a texting partner at all, because he didn’t even have a cellphone. I’m not sure he has one right now, actually.
During those three/four months, though, we spent many recesses holding hands and walking together, kissing but not really making out (14 year old me didn’t know the difference and thought kissing for a long time was the same thing as making out), and smoking together. Ahh, the joys of dating someone who also smokes.
In any case, on the last day of 9th grade exams, we had a talk and decided to break up, because the distance would be too big (I’m not even lying when I say our high school is 2 streets down from our middle school) and I’d find a high school guy to be interested in. This ended up being very true, actually. But, like all other stories, that is a story for another time.
As he told me that we had to break up, I got a little teary-eyed, but didn’t cry. Instead, I smiled at him, wished him good luck with everything, and went to meet my friends at the bar, where I cried about 5 tears, had a soda, a cigarette, and moved on to greener (or not, really) pastures.
‘Cuban’, although meaningless, marked the start of my dating life. And boy, what a life it has been! I can’t wait to tell you about it.
Until next time,