The Very Hungry Hamburglar

Lessons in how to pay attention

When I was 19, I briefly dated a guy who made a lot of money but insisted on living like a pauper and seemed to deeply resent his boyfriendly obligation to feed me when I'd stay at his house.

He kept a running list on the fridge of the things he knew how to cook, and the list contained three items: fried eggs, spaghetti, and Hamburger Helper. We’d usually split a box of Hamburger Helper, which he would absolutely inhale faster than I'd ever seen anyone eat anything in my life, and then, literally within the next second, he'd turn, begin watching me actively eating my food, and then ask me if I was going to finish it.

Cooking some trademark Eggs one morning

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Brent was a senior when I was a freshman and popular enough in school that I knew who he was, but I had never really interacted with him. His younger sister Luna was only a grade ahead of me, though, and by the time I was a junior we hung out with many of the same people. During 11th grade I was hanging out with some friends and we wound up at their house. Luna was giving us the tour of the place, which was something of a local architectural marvel, designed and built by Luna and Brent’s father and beautifully decorated by their botanist mother. Luna showed us a display of framed oil paintings on the wall upstairs near the bedrooms.

“My older brother did those in IB Art his senior year. He’s in college now.” We oohed and ahhed at the pieces that seemed very sophisticated for a teenager. I was surprised that Brent, a guy who was so attractive and popular when he was in high school, was also into art, which didn’t seem terribly common back then. Art was the favorite class of girls and quiet, nerdy boys and teenagers who didn’t fit in anywhere else; if Brent was this good, he was definitely unique and more interesting than I expected.

The next year, I was at a party with some friends and saw Brent in the kitchen sitting at a round table playing cards with a group of people I knew. He met my eye from the card table and grinned. Oh my goodness, I thought, he’s got a beautiful smile. I remembered being at his and Luna’s house and seeing his paintings. Talented and gorgeous? I was intrigued, but not delusional; I knew this guy could not possibly be into me. I was still in high school and he was 21 and in college. Way out of my league.

A few months later, not too long before graduation, I would go to another house party with some friends. I had never really drank at all other than a sip of tequila my mom allowed me once and a weak strawberry daquiri I conned an older cousin into making me at a family reunion, but I wanted to try, and this was as good a chance as any. Turned out the house we were at belonged to none other than my dream man, Brent.