To: My Hero - From: Heartbreaker

"To: My hero- From: "Heartbreaker"/By: Lois Lavrisa

Recently, an email popped up with the subject line of, “Heartbreaker.’ It was from Andy, a former boyfriend, from my Southside of Chicago Public High school. I would also like to accurately say an old boyfriend, because soon he’ll hit the half century mark, but I digress. This is verbatim the beginning of the heartbreaker email: "Hmmm... this couldn't be the same Lois Sanders that broke my heart way back in 1977 could it? I'm glad I got over that, although it took lots of therapy and endless soul-searching to figure out where I went wrong. Yup, I'm almost all better, but I still can't listen to "behind blue eyes" without getting choked up.”

Swallowing hard, I shook my head in disbelief. Initially, I cringed thinking of my past, which I try to forget. Next, I felt flattered that an ex would look me up. Ultimately, I felt remorseful and apologetic.

Implausibly, thirty three years later, Andy still remembered me as a heartbreaker. Isn’t it only the gorgeous, fashionable perky girls who generate such heartbreak? In 1977, I was the antithesis of popular. I was a nerdy, brainy pom-pom girl during basketball season and an even dorkier flag twirling girl during football season. With my waist length frizzy brown hair, granny glasses, skinny and underdeveloped body I was more wallflower than heartbreaker. To boot, I was a cowering insecure teen, concealing at all costs the hell that was my alcoholic family riddled with dysfunction. I was a mess. But a heartbreaker? Hardly.

Now at 48 years old, married for two decades, with four children, I still don’t classify myself as a heartbreaker. Perhaps part of Andy’s memory of me was a remnant of the hallucinogenic teenage hormonal magic that makes us look back on first loves as some idyllic image. I could never live up to that.

This brings me to my second reaction; the whole fleeting moment after reading the email that I was flattered. Wouldn’t you be if an ex looked you up, bravely contacted you and still appeared hurt from you breaking their heart? For an ephemeral moment I fooled myself into believing that I was indeed one of the exquisite people from high school, who could merit that kind of email from a jilted boyfriend. Before you think that I’m on an ego trip, please do realize that whole whimsy lasted as long as it just took you to read this paragraph.

Here is the lingering outcome of the email. It’s the remorseful apologetic phase, the one I retain deep in the ravine of my soul, wishing in some way that I knew better back then to do better. Nevertheless, according to a Persian proverb, “You can’t put an old head on young shoulders.” Even thought I try to make amends as soon as possible, I know that there are still quite a few outstanding apologies that are way in arrears. Luckily, Andy’s email gave me a chance to pay out at least one overdue apology.

Andy was a tall, cute, skinny boy with a huge wild mop of beautiful dark red hair. He was a caring, respectful and kind boyfriend. During the time we dated, a gang that had been tormenting me, upped the ante and decreed a date and time that they would destroy me. You may be wondering what I did to this gang of promiscuous, black concert t-shirted, pot smoking, school skipping girls? My affront to them was just being plain timid me. That was sufficient to evoke abhorrence.

Amazingly, Andy’s immune system survived the malady that spread amongst our group of friends that called in sick the very same day my annihilation was intended. Even now, I get watery eyed recalling Andy marching into my classroom, that fated Friday. He reached over and clutched my hand tightly, kissed me on the cheek then led me out under his safe shelter, right past my five awaiting, arm crossed executioners. They shouted a few colorful hate soaked expletives my way and then stomped off. The gaggle of onlookers dismantled.

I never thanked Andy for that day. This is where the remorseful apologetic part comes in. Andy was my hero. He saved me from physical harm. How did I repay him for his valor? Regrettably, very poorly. Dan, a dark haired, charming guitar playing cross country runner stole my heart away from Andy (as a side note, Dan just as quickly ran over my heart to the next girl) Without giving an explanation or even saying a word, I shoved Andy’s chunky silver high school ring wrapped with fuzzy white angora- into his hand. Tears spilled down his cheek. I wish I could go back right now, and be benevolent in that moment. Regrettably, at sixteen, that was all that I had in my limited arsenal of breakup tactics. Now, kismet seemed to allow me the opportunity to make reparation for breaking a heart.

My email was sent, it read: “To: Andy, my hero. I’m surprised yet relieved that you contacted me, for I would be too ashamed to contact you. Thank you for presenting me with a unique opportunity to respond to the hurt I inflicted on you. I will try to make it right- hoping in the end you will feel vindicated. And, in a way, you are saving me again. Because of your email, I have an opportunity to respond, thereby liberating the albatross of guilt hanging on my soul. Andy, you were a remarkable boyfriend in every sense of the word. You protected me, when no one else would. For that I am colossally grateful. Thank you seems insufficient for your unconditional loyalty and protection. Moreover, I’m exceedingly apologetic for my crass and abrupt breakup of our relationship. You deserved, at the very least, kindness. I do hope that you can forgive me. From: Heartbreaker.”

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