It’s all quite a
fairy tale story I must say.
To list the quick factual bit, I never wanted to have children in my life. I’m unsure if it was a lack of maturity in my nature or if I was completely and utterly selfish. Regardless, I didn’t want to have anything to do with children. I was raised with two sisters 11 and 14 years my senior. In fact, that makes me (almost) an only child during the early adolescent years.
But there he was at age 14, speaking in front of the school at an all-freshman class assembly. I was new to the town and he was just a dream. Who knew a little Hawaiian girl would like the palest (with the cutest freckles) blonde boy with blue eyes? I did. And in fact, I fell head over heels with him. During my freshman year, we had maybe two occurrences where we didn’t speak to each other, but looked at each other for a second too long. Once in an elevator where he had obviously broken a bone or some sort and I was helping a fellow classmate with her books five minutes before the next class. We caught eyes in the elevator simultaneously and both looked the other way. Oh, so romantic. The next was the last day of ninth grade where he ran up to me, screamed in my face, and continued along with the other “cool kids” (I wasn’t “cool” yet) in a celebratory fashion.
The next year I was on Student Council and he was still the Vice President of our class. My newfound best friend was the President and told me to come to his house after school one day to help create the sophomore Homecoming (it’s an American tradition) float. I helped decorate for a bit and then choreographed a dance for five of our most popular guys to perform on the float. Of course, he was there. And he was one of the dancers. By the end of the night we spoke and were flirting. I went home later on that evening in hopes of finding him on AOL (AOL Instant Messenger – the original texting). I did, and he was on-line. We chatted for seven hours about everything our small lives had to offer at the ripe age of 15. We were hopeless and in love. At the end of the night he messaged me: I love you. Don’t go.
And I didn’t leave his side. I loved him back.
My first drink happened only one month later and he was at the same party. I was now one of the popular kids (after the discovery of my virtuoso piano skills during an all-school show the end of my freshman year) and still a good, little Christian girl I never drank a sip of beer. It was worldly. After one and a half Yuengling Lagers I was drunk. Bouncing around and singing, sliding down the steps of one of my new best friend’s homes, I was happy as a clam. We exchanged glances over the night, but didn’t quite do anything. We just chatted on the phone for a few more weeks until the big semi-formal. I attended it with my best friend, of course, and spent the entire night with my love. He kissed me on the cheek, being too shy to actually make out with me.
Then the inevitable happened. I, being naïve and not knowing how this whole boy-girl thing actually operated, was not seeing the end in sight. I thought we would be married and live a happy life together after high school. One of his soccer teammates died in a car accident that weekend. The entire school was struck and the funeral arrangements were being made. He didn’t speak to me. Instead, he wrote me a note telling me to get “my shit out of his locker” and illustrated my books with an apple on top and his locker with a bolded arrow pointing to the ground. Yup. He did that.
I was heartbroken. I spoke to the school librarian every day after school about this boy and how he broke my heart. She coddled and consoled me telling me that she was sure he was a nice boy and that maybe I should focus on my studies. But I couldn’t. I began cutting.
It was the first time I couldn’t take pain away from myself and I was only fifteen years old. I was sad and wanted to feel the actual pain, so I would take steak knives and slice my wrists with tough scratches until it bled just a pinch. Once it did that, I would blow on it with hot air and feel good again. The pain would subside, a scab would be created and that scab would comfort me. I knew that I could actually feel again.
By the time junior year came, I had a plethora of both girl and guy friends in my new town and was no longer a prude. I was dating a popular soccer player, but secretly still in love with him. Little did I know so was he…
Out of the blue one day in the library I received an apology email from him stating that he wanted to be friends and hoped I agreed. I had been waiting for over a yea to hear back from him. It happened. I didn’t cut anymore. My grades began to improve (once again back on the principal’s list) and all was right with the world.
In New Jersey, many of the high school teenagers save up money and rent a house down the shore and party there for an entire weekend after the prom is over. We had prom for juniors and seniors only. My junior year I went with a boy in my Honors Physics class. Afterwards, I went to Ocean City for the shore house. I begged my mother to let me go as all of my girlfriends would be there. I arrived and there he was.
We hung out the entire first night together until 6a.m. and finally kissed. The weekend was bliss. We were in love once again. It was our first kiss…
TO BE CONTINUED.