Ten girls I have been dating. When I was a teenager.
One girl was walking in the corridors of my school. She was kind of cute, and I was thirteen. I do not actually remember the first time we talked. It was my first year in that school. My family moved two years before from the city to that small village. However, I kept attending the first two years of junior high school in my hometown. I kinda enjoyed the change. Finally I could bike to school. And hang out with local kids. I do not even remember the first time we kissed. I guess it happened at the public library, where we were spending our afternoons together.
The prettiest girl of the village
Another girl, I met her at the Sunday mass. I was fourteen, this time. And once again my family just moved in a new village, not far away from the first one. Still the cultural distance was unmeasurable. If in the first village, people were still talking proper Italian, here they were just expressing themselves in a ridiculous dialect. I remember old ladies stopping me on the street, and asking “whom are you a child of?” — that is kind of different question than to ask “who are your parents”. The girl was the prettiest of the little village. We kept meeting at the parish’s house. Less fun than the library.
I cannot remember
I was fifteen when I traveled to central Italy, on a journey organized by the school. I cannot even remember the name of the girl. I know that she was a brunette. And her eyes were dark and deep. Don’t ask me if she was pretty. I guess not. Still, I have spent the nights of that trip, sleeping in her room. Not that anything else happened more than some kiss and hugging.
And then I met this girl at the boy scouts camp. I remember her name, not how she looked like. I checked her out on Facebook. And I deeply hope she was prettier at the time. I was sixteen, if it may be an excuse.
I have been in France, for the first time, when I was seventeen. My English was someway understandable. Unfortunately she was speaking just French. The girl had blondish curly hair, some funny blue eyes, and was not too shy. Donno how we actually managed to spend some time hanging out together. I asked many times her name. I was quite convinced it was something like Jaime Pel. Still, Jaime was always laughing so much when I was calling her name. Finally, she wrote it down “Je m’appelle L***”.
The year after I turned eighteen. She was an Italian girl, but was living in another city. Her name was F*** and I promised to write. I guess I did not keep my word.
Then the same year, I met that Polish girl. And I did not make the mistake once again to call her Jaime. That was the time when I learned the six sentences I still know in Polish. Of course, K*** did not speak any English. We were holding hands, and I was repeating whatever sentence she was saying in Polish.
When I became nineteen
When I became nineteen, many things happened. I went once again to a scout camp, and there was this amazingly cute blond girl playing the guitar and reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez. We dated for a while, once back home. Or maybe this was just what I hoped. To be honest, we went out a couple of times, and she made clear that she actually had a boyfriend. Not sure why she did not say it before.
A week later or so, I met this crazy girl. She was kind of church-goer. Never kissed a guy before. And she asked the permission of the priest of her parish to kiss me. I still have the letters she was writing me. Jesus would have saved our souls, and she was praying several hours a day for the forgiveness of our sins. She was kind of obsessive: eventually I had to tell her that I was going to become a Catholic priest myself. So that I could not meet her again.
That summer I dated also a funny — but not so cute — girl I met on a beach. And a friend of her, much prettier but quite boring. I know, counting them, we are at eleven. So, let’s just drop these two.
Number ten, you have already read about her: I do not know where she is today.
When I think about these stories
When I think about these stories, today, it sounds all fun and romance. It was not so, at the time. And I have been quite a shy teenager. Maybe. In some way, I think those have been important moments. Should I ever write a novel, these girls will all be interesting characters of my story.
More stories of ex-girlfriends
- The first girl that made me cry
- A girl I met on a train
- The girl next door
- Losing a friend [for a girl]