I had a breakup of my own in that city two summers ago, but it wasn’t anything as dramatic as this one:
At 15, I went to do a year-long exchange program in Argentina for my junior year of high school. I ended up in a stiflingly strict home in the suburbs, where I wasn’t allowed to go out much. My one reprieve was a part-time job in the center of Buenos Aires working as a teaching assistant at a private English language academy. It was there that I met B.
She was one of the other teaching assistants, having done a year at U Michigan. We became friends, but she was 23, so my schoolboy crush seemed like a non-starter. But something did start (a story for another time), and it was every bit as wonderful as you would imagine a 15-year-old boy to deem an ongoing romantic relationship with a 23-year-old woman.
The only trouble was that the whole thing was shrouded in secrecy. I could only see her on the two days each week when I went to my job, and I couldn’t tell ANYONE.