I don’t want to be the crying girl at the bus station ever again.

When I was in college, I used to take the Greyhound bus whenever I would go home for visits. One of the staples of a Greyhound bus station is the crying girl. The crying girl has come to visit her boyfriend and has, in turn, been dumped by him. Said boyfriend, with an obligingly sorry/guilty look on his face, dutifully drops her back at the bus station to send her on her way.

I always noticed crying girl and I always thought about how working class the whole situation was. While bus travel on this side of the ocean doesn’t seem to carry the same stigma, in America it really is the lowest of the low.

So, when I decided to be a good girlfriend back in December of 2000 and take the bus down to Kokomo, Indiana (to save him the drive there and back) to visit my college boyfriend, I really didn’t expect that in a few short days, I, too, would fill the post of crying girl. I never anticipated that he would dump me on New Year’s Eve and send me off on the next bus home.

Three years later, having finished college, started a career and moved to another country, I hadn’t thought about crying girl in a long time.

I moved to Belfast, met a wonderful man, fell in love, and looked forward to every weekend when we would meet again. At first, he drove to Belfast each week. Then, I took the bus to Derry. I met his family: parents, sister, daughter. I also met his friends. We had a great time and planned to meet in Derry again the following weekend.

I never saw the crying girl coming.

The next weekend, (as in this weekend), I was all geared up to spend the night with him and his daughter. It was the first time he was caring for her overnight on his own. Things did not start off well, as he told me at the last minute that I could not come because his mother was not comfortable with me staying the night there (he lives with his parents) while his parents were away (they were going out of town) and he was not able to arrange for other accommodation for me (presumably at one of his friends’ houses). He was annoyed at my annoyance and hung up on me after saying that I didn’t “have to be so cheeky about it”. After I got over my intial perturbed state, I remembered how important this evening was for him and how much I really wanted to be a part of it. I phoned him back and told him of my plan to help with the baby, and once she was asleep, go sleep at a local hostel. After he agreed with this plan, I hurriedly prepared for my journey. After two and a half hours on the bus, I arrive. He and his friend, Connor, meet me at the bus station and when I remind Ronan that we have to swing by the hostel so I can pick up my key, he informs me the plan has changed. He doesn’t specify what the plan is, but I later found it is to just disobey mum and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Whatever. This puts me in the precarious position of having to lie to his parents, but more about that some other time.

His daughter arrives and is in quite a state because she had shots in both of her arms earlier in the day and she also had a cold. He, his sister, and her friends all have tries at calming her, but to no avail. I eventually get her to sleep after much ado. As she is only a wee baby, she wakes up in the middle of the night, and after a change and a feed, I get her to sleep again. He thanks me for my help and says he doesn’t know what he would’ve done without me there. A few short hours later, the baby awakes again, same process repeat. A few hours after that, she goes home to her mum’s. A couple hours later, he dumps me.

What happened? Well, I ask myself the same question even now. Here is a run down of what happened after the baby went home.

We are laying on his bed watching television. I ask what we are going to do today. He wants to watch four hours of pre-game football coverage followed by the match itself, which he’s actually not sure is televised. I’m happy enough to stay in and watch football with him all day.

Then his friend, Stephen, calls. It is Stephen’s birthday. Ronan forgot. They are to go out that evening, as they do every year. No girls allowed.

What am I going to do?, Ronan asks me. I say that I’m happy enough to stay at his place while he goes out (departing at an early 6:00 p.m., I might add). No, not a possibility because the parents won’t allow it. Okay, I say, well, I’ll actually stay at the hostel tonight and see the sights of Derry while he’s away. Nope, he doesn’t want me to do that, either. OOOOOkay, well that kind of limits the options, doesn’t it? I guess I’ll just have to go back home to Belfast. It is maybe 1:00 p.m. at this point and I arrived at 7:30 p.m. the night before, spending the whole night taking care of his daughter. I am, admittedly, annoyed. He is upset that I’m annoyed and this spirals into he doesn’t think we should be together because a.) we fight too much b.) I’m too clingy (he “couldn’t be arsed” to explain which of my actions would be defined as clingy).

Well, his decision made, I have no choice but to ask for a lift back to the bus station and once again take on the role of crying girl.

This time, though, I didn’t resent the role. I kept thinking of that song, The Rose, which says the heart afraid of breaking never gets to love (or something like that). I gave my all, he didn’t want it, end of story. I accepted this more and more as I waited for the bus, on the long journey home, and as I made my way home from the bus station in Belfast. The crying ceased. I accepted it was over.

Less than an hour after I arrive home, Ronan phones. He says he was an idiot, he’s sorry, he made a mistake and he’d like to rectify that mistake. I say I’m not sure. He says I can think about it and he’ll phone me tomorrow (which is today).

Today on the phone, he is very short, curt and guarded. My questions annoy him. He hangs up on me. (he later said his battery died). The actions of someone who wants to get back together? Not likely. I have no idea what changed his mind or even what made him decide to end the relationship in the first place. He said he couldn’t explain. He said I was overanalyzing and then his battery died.

Somehow, despite my not accepting his apology and not taking him back, he has managed to dump me again. Wow, now that is indeed impressive.

So he phoned again, said now he’s not sure. I said I can’t take this. He said then I know what I need to do. I explain, no, it’s the up and down that I can’t take. He has to go, he’ll call me later. So again, I wait.

Now, if this does indeed come to an end, I will have to go through the emotions over again. I will have to start all over. Once again, I will be the crying girl