First Love

It was one of those autumn nights where you smell the winter coming but it’s still a ways off yet. The leaves are turning and falling, crunching under your shoes, and the excitement of social activity is enough to keep the chill from taking hold and seeping into your bones. This particular night was a Friday, which meant I was with my best friend at our high school’s football game. We were still in junior high, and I was never into the football.  I went to games to see friends, to check out guys, to get away from home, to be part of something, anything. I was standing amongst a circle of friends and acquaintances when I glanced over at a group of boys nearby. It was as though my eyes were instinctively drawn to this group, and a particular set of dark eyes that were watching me. I had no idea who he was, but every single time I would glance back in his direction, his eyes were on mine. I think I knew from that moment that he was someone special. That is the only thing I remember about that night: the boy with the dark eyes. Those mysteriously intense deep dark eyes, always on mine.

I’m not sure how long it was after that night before I received a note from this boy, passed from him to my best friend and finally to me. I found out his name, and that he had a crush on me. I was flattered and excited and scared. I didn’t even know him. We began chatting with each other on AOL and talking on the telephone. I would have the phone cord stretched as far as it would go into the closet downstairs, so I could speak privately. We talked about so many different things: music, life, love, dreams, hopes, goals. We connected, so deeply, on so many levels. And when he finally told me he loved me, I was the happiest girl alive. There was nothing I wanted more than his love.

We went to this old rundown theater in the closest town for our first date, and we sat in the very back row. I was so terribly nervous. We saw Titanic and it was such a beautiful love story. We sat through the entire end credits, listening to that song, just being close to each other, not wanting the moment to end. Afterward, we walked out of the theater and across some broken pavement to the car where his dad was waiting to drive us home. We sat in the backseat together, so innocent and so pure, and then when we got back to my house, he asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said yes, of course I said yes, I was head over heels. And then he kissed me on the back porch of my childhood home, a porch that is no longer there but is filled with so many memories. It was so beautiful. I hope I always remember these things, these moments that I have stored in my mind, I hope I always have them to remember, to smile. To cry.

We were so beautiful together, always so happy. In school, it was hard, I was so shy, I was so afraid, I couldn’t muster the courage to hardly even talk to him. I regret that and wish I would have been braver, but I just wasn’t. I didn’t know how to handle all of those feelings in a public setting. But when we were together, alone, nothing else mattered. Just me and him. He would look at me, he would just stare, like he still couldn’t take his eyes off of me. He would tell me how beautiful I was; my face, my nose; he said I was so pretty. He made Be believe him even though I couldn’t see it. And he would hold me for what seemed like hours.

We had a scare after a few months, an accident, and we sat on the couch in his basement, me on his lap, and I cried and cried, and he held me and told me everything would be okay, that he would never leave me, he would be right there with me every step. I loved him in that moment more than I have ever loved anyone.

It’s these brief moments, these memories that I’ve folded up and put in my back pocket for safekeeping, that I find myself going back to time and time again, in the hope of finding comfort, in the hope of finding joy, in the hope of finding hope.

I remember his uncle driving us over to my house to drop me off.  He would take each turn sharp and quick, trying to jostle me into his nephew’s lap. He was a good uncle.

I remember going to see fireworks with his family that summer. We drove into town and parked on a side street and walked over to the high school where everyone gathered to watch the show. His parents settled down with their lawn chairs to wait for dusk, while he and I milled about, checking out the scenery of people. We passed many kids our age and he seemed to know so many and I felt so awkward, so out of place, so shy next to this giant boy with his baggy jeans and his cool attitude. Later on I learned that attitude was really just a facade; he was as nervous and awkward as I was, but he hid it underneath the identity he was creating for himself. I don’t know if he’s ever shown another person what’s behind that mask. I hope so.  

And then the fireworks were starting, and we made our way back to where his parents had camped out, and we sat together on the grass, so close I could feel him breathing. I felt every brush of his hand against my knee, and I wonder if he could feel my breath catch. And then music started playing, and suddenly his Mom was on her knees, her hands waving in the air, tears streaming down her face as she sang along to God Bless the USA. I don’t know why she was crying then, or what she felt in that moment, but she was feeling, and she was beautiful.

I remember going with his Mom and his brother to watch his baseball team play. I would sit there behind the fence with them while he played, chatting with his Mom, watching his brother run around talking to other people. He was at that age where he wanted to talk constantly to people, tell them all about every little thing that was so important to him at that moment, and I could see the exasperation on their mother’s face. “Hey Mom,” he’d call out, trotting over to ask another question or tell another joke, trying desperately to fit in somewhere, to be “cool” like his big brother. Then Mom looked at me candidly and said that he wanted to bring a girl to the games, too, he didn’t think it was fair that big brother was allowed to bring me. Now I know that he was feeling left out, that his best friend had found a new best friend, and this one had breasts and he couldn’t compete with that. Her response to his inquiry was “if he can find someone who will put up with him for more than a couple days” he could bring her. It was funny then. I remember laughing at the absurdity of him finding someone who could “put up with him.” He was eleven. Looking back, it just makes me sad.

Dear brother,

You were just a kid when I knew you. So young and even then, so much weighing on you everyday. I remember when my Mom told me that she knew you from chatting on AOL, and how I was so stunned that out of all the people in the world, she had somehow found and befriended my first love's little brother. I think at the time I thought it was a little bit strange, that my Mom was talking to you when you were just a kid, and I wondered why you even wanted to talk to her. Looking back, I think maybe you just needed someone to talk to, and I think you have always had an underlying idea that no one cared about you. Every time I would come to your house to see your brother, you would always be hanging around, sometimes you would actually kick it with us, and other times you would just be there, in the background, and I always got the sense that you wanted to be right there with us. I know now that it was your tremendous love for your brother, your admiration and respect, that drew you to his side day after day. I would notice you then, watching us, and even then I could feel that you needed to be close to him, and I always wanted to invite you to join us because for whatever reason, I sensed that need in you. I wish I had, I wish had reached out to you then, I wish I would have known how to do that, but I didn't. I was a scared little girl and the things going on in my life at that time were too difficult, it was all I could do to maintain any kind of composure at all. I was too busy holding in all of the shit storm that was my life, even that one small opening up of my heart for another person, no matter how much I wanted to be able to do it, was too much, too risky, and everything I was holding in would have poured out from that hole, and I was too young, too young and too afraid of anyone seeing my scars. If I could go back, brother, I would talk to that young boy and try to share in that needing to belong and needing to be loved, because we have all been there and have needed that love, longed for it, and when there's no one there to reach out and hold on to, it gets so damn lonely and I guess what I am trying to say is that whatever you were going through, I wish I would have listened to my gut and just said, hey, come on in and talk, or don't talk, whatever, just don't be alone, you don't have to feel like you're alone.  And even though I didn't know how to reach out to you, I still cared about you, and always have kind of seen you as a little brother, and even though we were never very close, I have always thought of you as a friend; you've always had a place in my heart. And every time I'd talk to your brother, I would ask about you, and your Mom, and if things were going bad for you, my heart would weep and I always wanted to help you somehow and you are part of the reason I went back to school to pursue a degree in therapy/human services/social work because I thought maybe someday I could help you, but I was too damn late and now you're gone and I don't think I ever told you how much I cared and how much you meant, and I can't even imagine-- I look through all of the pictures and the posts on your wall from your friends and family and how much love there is for you, and I just cry and cry, and I didn't even know you that well, I just can't imagine how it must feel for your family, for everyone who loves you so much and I feel almost guilty for being so sad, like it's their tragedy, your family's loss, and how dare I even cry for you when all these other people were so much closer and sometimes I wish I didn't care so much, I wish I didn't have all of this overwhelming empathy, because it brings so much pain. I see the words from your daughter's Mom, who I've never even met, and your beautiful daughter, and your Mom, and I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry, I don't even have the words. I can feel all the love emanating from those photos of you with your girls, and it breaks my heart to think of them without you, I know you loved them both so much. I just start thinking about my son, and his Dad, and what the hell would we even do if we lost him? I can't even imagine how immense the pain must be, and I can't think of you without thinking of them, and when I cry for you, I am crying for them, from one mother to another, I am so truly and deeply sorry. I think your Mom and your daughter's Mom both must be two of the strongest women because it takes strength to face each day, and even more to face the pain. And your brother is one of the strongest men I know, he has overcome so many hurdles, so many losses, and I have so much admiration, respect, and love for him, I wonder if he knows. But I have gotten off track here a little, brother... it's so easy to get off track in life...

Brother, I came here today to tell you how much I care. I hope you can see now how very many people there are who love and care for you, I hope you can feel all of this love. I can feel it each time I visit your memorial page(s), it's huge, it's alive, and it's in all of us who are waiting to see you once again. I hope that you felt at least a fraction of this love while you were here.

   

I remember when he took me to Lonestar steakhouse with his Dad and his brother. I had never ordered a steak before, and quite possibly never even eaten a steak before. My family didn’t go out to eat, and we didn’t eat steak at home. So I was clueless, and I had no idea what I liked or what to order, and I just remember thinking I should order the cheapest thing on the menu, so I ordered a chopped steak, well done. All of these men I was with looked at me like I was out of my mind, but I truly hadn’t a clue. So then it came out, and this “steak,” this sorry excuse for a piece of meat, was like a hamburger patty without the bun. Gross. I have since learned that I prefer a filet mignon, medium rare. I wish I had been schooled on steak etiquette prior to that meal, so I wouldn’t have alienated everyone... but... we live and we learn.

That is such a bittersweet memory for me,  but I am so thankful that I have it. I am so thankful that I was able to know his Dad and brother, even if only a little bit, just a short time. They are part of him, his family, and it means so much to me to have those memories.

I remember he took me to his Mom’s family get together and they had a pool and we went swimming and I thought I was so fat and ugly, but he made me feel beautiful. I know there are pictures of that day floating around somewhere, but I have no idea where they are. I wish I did.

I remember sitting out on his back deck and his Dad grilled cheeseburgers for us. And it was so simple, just sitting there, quietly eating our cheeseburgers together, but it was so wonderful, I was so happy just to be there. I felt loved and taken care of and content.

I remember visiting him at his Mom’s when his Grandma lived there, and she too made us cheeseburgers, and I took a bite of mine and it started gushing blood. I was so grossed out, and he was frantically whispering “don’t say anything, don’t tell her, no, no” so I wasn’t going to but then she came and asked what was wrong, and me being me, I had to tell her the truth. So, she put it back in the frying pan to cook longer, and he said she was practically blind in her  old age. His Mom’s boyfriend was there, and he kept telling me not to worry about his fantasy crush on the Spice Girls, because that’s all it was: a fantasy. And then we were laying on his Mom’s bed, me rubbing his back, and I can remember exactly what his shoulders looked like and how much I loved them, and he was telling me that his Mom had this body wash I would like, it was Dove body wash and it would make my skin so soft, so soft.

I don’t know why I remember these things, but I do. It feels so good to remember. I had true love once, out in front of his Dad’s old house in Lafayette, he swept me up into his arms, and I was scared, and happy, and safe. These are the moments I hold on to, clutching them tight against my beating heart, to remind me what it is to be alive.