First Love

Thinking about the topic of "first love" takes me back to the angst that is teen life.  I would never, never want to relive those days--I think I was in a constant state of anxiety for 5 or 6 years! Oh, the nervousness, the second-guessing, the swooning and pining, the wishing and wondering, the ups and the downs.  My first big crush was in Germany in 8th grade--a boy named Walter.  He was smart, gorgeous, funny, friendly and nice to those of us who were not quite in his circle of beautiful people.  He was so cool that even a name like Walter could not hold him back.  Walter might be a cool name now, I am not sure, but it was decidedly uncool in 8th grade in the late 60s.  He sat in front of me in one of my classes and turned around to say a few words to me most days, smiling that beautiful smile of his. I was gaga for him but my role in jr. high and much of high school was to be the friend, not the girlfriend. I was small and undeveloped, had weird wavy/curly dark hair when all the hip girls had beautiful, very straight blonde hair.  I never had any fashion sense and typically made the wrong decisions about everything to do with boys.  I can't tell you how many guys said "she's like a little sister to me."

I also had a penchant for choosing boys who were interested in my friends and not me.  This was the way to experience heartache up close. What's worse than not having the boy you love?  Having to watch him with your best friend.

If Walter ever suspected I had a crush on him, he didn't show it.  He dated my friend Lys for awhile, the girl with thick, straight blonde hair and boobs--she knew I liked him but she went out with him anyway. I thought there was some sort of girlfriend code that you wouldn't do that, but wow, if I'd been in her place, I don't think I would have turned him down either. I don't remember much about their time together except once we were all three walking somewhere in the cold and he let both of us put our hands in his coat pockets, one on each side.  That was the closest I ever got to Walter.  I remember having a sweaty hand.

On to New Jersey and 9th grade.  I will not count the paperboy who took me to one movie, held my hand, and never asked me out again. I have no idea what went wrong. It was too awkward to talk about it, even though I saw him regularly when he came to collect for the newspaper for awhile. Thankfully, he moved away within a few months so I didn't have to continue feeling weird.  I will not count the beautiful southern boy who lived across the parking lot from me.  In his dreamy drawl, he managed to work his way into a make-out session that led to no ongoing attachment, to my humiliation. I could not stand him for awhile but eventually I forgave him and we became good friends. I was always confused about rules and expectations and had no idea how to relate to a guy. What did they want, anyway?!  Well, I guess we know the main thing they wanted, but I was just a naive little girl looking for someone to love me in the most romantic sense of the word.

My first love, if you count having an actual relationship,  was John.  When I met him, he was dating one of my good friends. Ooops.  Although I harbored wishes that they would break up and he would be mine, I kept my distance and pined away.  He was smart and funny (I have a thing for smart and funny), cute and a little bit shy.  When he and my friend were still together, we all went on a Teen Club trip to NYC. As we crossed a busy street near Central Park in the rain, he reached out and took both our hands, one on each side.  I have to laugh about both of these memories, Walter and the coat pockets, John and the two person hand holding. The cynical me thinks they were eating it up--"Look at me, I have two girls who want me!"  What an ego boost!  Or maybe they were just nice guys. What do you think??

Eventually John and my friend split and I was next up.  I think by then we had admitted an interest in one another, though no one wanted to hurt anyone else. I think she was tired of him, too, and moving on.  Or at least that's what I wanted to believe.  All these years later, I cannot really remember how long we were together but it was probably only a few months.  I was crazy for this boy, but it was also very strange and awkward because I had no idea how to be a girlfriend or what to do in a relationship.  Nobody TALKED about anything.  We were just fumbling along without a clue.  We were young, no driver's licenses so we couldn't do much but walk all over the Air Force base and hang out with our friends.  I mostly remember passing notes in school, laughing at who-knows-what silly things in study hall, and walking around holding hands. Since both our names started with J, we had a running list of boys' and girls' "J" names we'd use when we grew up and got married one day. We went to baseball games, Teen Club dances and movies, but mostly just kinda wandered around. I am sure we must have talked about something besides the names of our imaginary children but that's about all I can recollect.  I was inexperienced and not ready for sex; he was not pushy and seemed accepting. We were only 15, for goodness sakes!   As with Kathi's first love, mine came to an abrupt end when a friend of a friend came to visit for the summer and they quickly became an item behind my back. I didn't have the agony of walking in on anything, but somehow found out that they were having sex on a daily basis after he took me home. I confronted him after tracking him down at the swimming pool and he admitted everything.  He "cared about both" of us but I think he "cared" about the sex more.  LOL   I sat on a deck chair at the pool and cried my eyes out in front of everyone there. I am sure it was quite a sight but I didn't care who saw me; now I would be mortified, but teenaged hormones can't be beat, can they?

I guess most first loves end badly or they would be permanent loves, right? :)   I was devastated and felt terrible for the longest time--you know, that aching in the chest and the constant replaying of every thought and every sentence, the second guessing about what you did and didn't do.   But one good thing about growing up in a military family is that eventually you leave or everyone else leaves so you don't have to have a daily reminder of things gone wrong.  He moved that same summer and one day I received a sincere letter of apology in the mail, which I appreciated. I've heard about him from a mutual friend off and on over the years. His kids don't have "J" names.