The Museum of Heartbreak - Meg Leder Page 0,1

of artifacts and memories related to all aspects of heartbreak.

To achieve its goals, the MoH recognizes:

• That heartbreak is defined by absence: that is, something you love (e.g., a person, place, or thing; your favorite stuffed animal; a firefly-filled summer vacation; the restaurant with the amazing pancakes and fruit butter) is gone.

• That heartbreak is defined by loneliness: that is, not having that thing brings about crippling feelings of sadness and despair.

• That while largely emotional, heartbreak is also a physical phenomenon: that is, it’s accompanied by an actual hollow pain in your chest any time you remember what you lost.

• That heartbreak heightens nostalgia: that is, you will suddenly be confronted with remembered sounds, tastes, and memories that will bring you to your knees.

• That heartbreak comes in all shapes and sizes: big, sweeping devastations that leave you reeling; tiny, particular sadnesses that make your bones ache.

• That sometimes the biggest heartbreak of all is letting go of the time before you knew things could ever be broken.

By educating and enlightening the viewing public, the MoH seeks to remind visitors to be vigilant. Because just like a hapless old dinosaur innocently eating leaves or gleefully munching on the bones of its prey, if you have a heart, you too can be flattened by the metaphoric meteor known as heartbreak.

Enjoy your time at the museum.

Sincerely,

The Curator and Ford the Cat

Watchmen, book

Watchmen, liber

1987

New York, New York

Cat. No. 201X-1

On loan from Ephraim O’Connor

ON THE FIRST DAY OF my junior year, in the first two minutes of open assembly, the most handsome boy I had ever seen in all my sixteen never-been-kissed years sat down and raised an eyebrow right at me.

He had gray-green eyes, cool like a round stone in your hand.

He was wearing a Catcher in the Rye T-shirt and a navy corduroy blazer with elbow patches.

He smelled like cinnamon.

If I could have conjured the perfect boy, I couldn’t have done better than this.

“Hey,” he said, tipping his head my way. “How are you liking it?”

Without thinking, I checked the seat next to me, but no, Eph was sprawled out, doodling intricately on the back cover of a notebook. I checked in front of me, but Audrey was talking to Cherisse, her back to us.

The boy was talking to me.

The boy with the thick eyebrows and the beautiful head of curly brown hair was talking to me.

“Ohhhh?” I said, and the sound came out like someone had stepped on a mouse, and I couldn’t help it, I was so flustered: I poked my finger at my chest. Me?

He nodded, a wry smile. “Yeah, you, Scout.”

My heart shot up and through my ribs to the tip of my tongue, paused for one breath, then plummeted back down even faster.

Like I’d stuck my finger in a socket.

Like I’d been hit by lightning.

Something inside me started, something with fierce, gnashing teeth and adrenaline and bone.

“How am I liking what?” I wiped my palms on my lap, willing myself to be cool, to calm down.

“Your comic book,” he said, pointing to the copy of Watchmen poking out of my bag. “Do you like it?”

The cute boy across the aisle was, for no apparent reason, striking up a conversation with me, and I had this giddy, fleeting thought: Wow, maybe it is finally happening. Also: Thank you, Baby Jesus, for making Eph lend me his copy of  Watchmen.

And then I opened my mouth.

“Oh, the graphic novel? It’s not mine; my friend is loaning it to me. . . .” I nodded in Eph’s general direction, afraid to take my eyes off the boy. “Which is cool, because it’s a first edition and he’s a megafan, probably because he’s going to be a graphic artist someday. . . .” The beautiful boy gave an amused nod, so I pushed forward. “Have you read it? I haven’t finished it yet, but I saw the movie and it was all right, though Eph said the movie messed a lot of stuff up. . . .”

The boy started to say something, but words were haphazardly tumbling out of my mouth on top of his. “Though I have a hard time following the graphic novel stuff, like do I read the dialogue up to down or left to right . . .” I zoomed my hands in crazy directions like the comic was in front of me. “Or maybe it doesn’t matter—I don’t know? But I like reading so much.”

I stuttered to a stop because I had lost my breath,