The Māori KETO-nic

Within the first week of arriving in Waiouru Army Camp I had an American G.I. boyfriend who I met my third day there; most of the other young girls in camp - my age - hated my guts; I got punched at a disco by this tank of a girl who fancied a boy who fancied me (she fancied a lot of boys who fancied me, as I said pick'ns were slim) and she found every opportunity to smack me around, mostly I discovered I was totally and frighteningly out of my depth.
My American G.I. boyfriend's name was Tony.  He was a huge African American who was muscly, charming,  sweet and respectful, and who told me not to call him a negro, which is of course what I thought they were called since I'd only ever seen African Americans on TV and that black people prefer to be called simply Black.   
I only got away with having an american boyfriend because my Uncle was posted somewhere else for a fair chunk of the time I was there and my Aunty was way too nice and busy with a little boy and a baby (and I have to say I was fuck all help).  
There is no excuse for this, I was brought up to work hard and do as I was told but I was tired all the time and found it excruciating to get out of bed, which I had to criminally early, for my first shift at work,  I was also terrified of the baby. I kept seeing myself dropping it, drowning it, or stepping on it.  I know now that it was paranoia but my mother had told me over and over that I couldn't be trusted around kids, even though I looked after my brothers and sister a LOT. I guess that must have been a parenting tool at the time, keep the kids terrified so they don't fuck up, maybe it came from one of the parenting gurus of the time like Doctor Spock, I don't know, but it filled me with horror.  The prospect of being left in control of other peoples children.  Which didn't help when I actually did look after a lot of kids and spent the whole time terrified, I even got paid for it sometimes.   But all I saw about myself was how clumsy and ungainly I was and how at anytime, if I didn't watch myself I could hurt some helpless baby.  
My cousin Michael was five at the time and the loveliest kid in the world and for a brief period of time he was the joy in my life, but I was too psychotically paranoid to spend a lot of time with him just in case...
Tony, my American G.I. boyfriend, was from Washington DC. He came from a really poor area and he, like a lot of guys his age, joined the army because - even though there was a chance of going to war -  because it guaranteed that you stayed alive past there teen years,  unlike living on his street.  A lot of men where he came from got shot, either by gangs or the police.  Also, most of the older men, the fathers etc had to leave Washington DC to get work at the factories in Detroit or New York. 
His brother had been shot dead when he was very young and his sister's husband had been shot dead outside their house which meant his army paycheck supported most of his family.  I - being a naive twit from Wainuiomata - thought this was unbearably tragic and glamorous, like a movie, in fact the whole thing had elements of fantasy woven into it.  Even the way we met.  
It was snowing and I was sitting in the playground which is halfway between the Army Camp and the house where my Uncle and Aunty lived.  I had honestly never seen snow before except for on the top of mountains and hills from a very long distance away.  I just sat in it as it settled around me in powdery little piles. Then this great big black guy in a US Army uniform appeared at the edge of the playground, he stood there for a long while watching me and I - of course - pretended not to notice him.  He walked over and my heart beat so loud I thought my head was going to explode.
Boys in NZ did not - as a rule - go up to girls and say things like. "You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life." in a deep dark Barry White voice.  But he did and I was stunned.  I couldn't breath, I thought I may have swallowed my tongue and I couldn't talk to save myself - I think I managed some sort of primeval grunt.  
He laughed then sat down next to me and we talked.  Boys in NZ don't talk to girls and if they did they certainly didn't listen to most of what girls had to say.  But he was listening, and he seemed fascinated by what I had to say.  And to tell the truth no one, and I mean nobody at all had ever been fascinated by me in any way - EVER.
Tony was exotic, beautiful and different with a cool accent and he was a man, he was twenty three, I was sixteen and I fell in love with him.  Bang.  Just like that.  The ton of bricks falling on you kind of love.
My brain literally exploded from all the scenarios that played out in it and his promises fed them.  He was going back to the US in a matter of weeks but that didn't matter, he loved me back and he would write all the time, and he would send for me to be with him forever.  We spent as much time as possible together.  No one else was pleased about it and I was blind to all that.  I was in love and basically when you are in love you are deaf, dumb and blind to anything else especially reality.
After he left I was heart-sick and devastated, I waited for his cards and letters and was over the moon when they arrived.  He sent me Garfield (I'd never heard of him) cards and beautifully written letters which I kept in a leather bound compendium which held all my letter writing stuff.  
He sent me a letter that he'd applied for a discharge as he had to go home and he would be discharged from the Army on 9 October (which was my birthday so I took that as a sign).  He had a job in Washington,  he missed me and his mother was looking forward to meeting me.  
Then he sent me a birthday card and after that there was nothing.  Tony's letters stopped.  
I waited for weeks and weeks and weeks but there was nothing.  Nowadays I could probably track him down on the internet but back then there was no such thing.  All I had was his company and barracks and as I found out after a dozen letters were returned he'd left the army so that was of no use anymore.  I don't know what happened.  Maybe he was lying to me the entire time, maybe he had a wife and kids, or maybe he got home, went down to the corner store to get a bottle of milk or loaf of bread and got shot.  I don't know.  I'll never know.  But what I did know was that I really truly loved him, I thought he loved me back and the song by Rod Stewart "The first cut is the deepest" is God's honest fecking truth, because I've never been the same since.  It smashed my heart to smithereens and a few pieces are still missing and I think it had a hand in breaking part of my mind too.  

Aftermath

Since that time I have discovered through other losses that the feelings I had when Tony stopped writing were betrayal, confusion and grief.  And at sixteen I did not want to feel any of those emotions as I did not have the tools to deal with them.  So I didn't.  Instead I lost my fecking mind.  I was a complete and utter selfish bitch.  If I was suffering everyone was suffering.  I was selfish, dishonest, and I broke a lot of hearts - a LOT - nice boys who really truly liked me.  I was a complete bitch to them all.  I mean I went out of my way to be horrible and I hated myself for it but I couldn't stop...