This blog is primarily for me to vent to my children, with them not having to actually hear my venting. However, over the past weekend an old acquaintance from high school got me to thinking more about writing for a bigger audience. Perhaps I will strive to do so. Today I will reminisce a bit.
This acquaintance from high school was not someone I knew well. Yet he was willing to share some of his own writing. Writing he felt hesitant to share. An excerpt of his writing included the story of a first crush. I suspect that in the theme of this blog, first crushes might be relevant. I will share a story. Perhaps not exactly about a first crush, but all of those high school "firsts" become intermingled stories of who we become.
I begin.
Sophomore year. Three young men stand out. One was tall, with dark wavy hair, a consistent smile and a laugh I can still hear in my head. I remember him specifically standing with a friend of his at a disco like place for teens. Did I mention he was tall? A tall boy. Did we have those in junior high? And another, a little quiet, so cute with dimples and a quiet manner. He was always a favorite, even as I had grown up. Somehow I have no specific memories of him as a young man. Just that he was a favorite. I wasn't a favorite of his, but that didn't seem to matter. And a third, one who became a wonderful friend and then at the end of senior year became a boyfriend for about two weeks. The first two might have been crushes for a short time during sophomore year, but my memory fails me. I don't recall any fluttering. I don't recall that excitement in my stomach when I was lucky enough to chat with them on the phone that was attached to my ear. However, something must have attracted me to them. Were these crushes? One I know as an adult 30 years later, and it is inconceivable to me that I would have ever had a crush on him, or romantic feelings, or teenage yearnings. But the third; that wonderful friendship, those embarrassing moments...
"Hey, you have little sideburns," he said as we walked up the steep ramp to a water slide. My hair was wet and tucked behind my ears. This friend, whom I loved, noticed something negative.
Rewind a few years. I am in my parents’ bathroom changing into or out of my swimsuit. Two junior high school boys spent most of the summer at my house, mostly because I was grounded much of the summer. They rode their bikes some incomprehensible number of miles to my home every day. There I am in all my glory changing clothes AND THEY WALK INTO THE BATHROOM. As anyone of any age would do, I quickly covered up. One said, "Look at all that hair!" Wait, what does that mean? Am I different? Am I unappealing? Hair, other than luxuriously coiffed on one's head, is very unacceptable in women. But I am beautiful. I have always been told so. My wonderful boobs may not be as big as others. My hair is dark, not blond like the boys' seemed to like. My smile is not big enough, teeth not white enough, but I have always known myself to be beautiful. But I now have "all that hair". That can't be good.
Back to high school, now I have SIDEBURNS. Again, something odd enough to mention. By a boy I can't wait to see. A boy I have made into my best friend. A boy who was cute, but not the cutest. Not really a smart boy. Not really a good boy or a bad boy. Not particularly nice to me. But a boy I would have done anything to make happy. Perhaps not a crush, because he was too well known by me to be labeled as something so unattainable and dreamlike as a crush. There were no blurry edges of dreams in our friendship. Unrequited love? No. I am certain he loved me - as a friend. There was nothing special about him. I was driven to be near him and be his friend because of some unknown force. Not hormones, because that was too common. Everybody I knew had hormones which drove them to make ridiculous decisions. Were we meant to be together, were there pheromones at work? Clearly not, because I have sideburns. Gross, misplaced hair on my otherwise beautiful self.
Was there more wrong with me? This silly boy somehow recognized that I was wonderful, surely, otherwise why would he have chosen me as a friend. We didn't have common friends, or activities in common, or similar families and backgrounds, and still we connected. Where did he go first thing when he bought his first car? Not a buddies house, no, he came to me. I was important. But clearly not good enough. He didn't want me as a girlfriend. Although we did end up after years of friendship trying our hand at dating. He cheated. After two weeks! He cried when I confronted him. No longer a crush, but a trusted and dear and long time friend. I could understand his cheating on his previous random girlfriends - but on me??? His best friend of three years? Who does that? He had the nerve to ask me why I wasn't crying. I remember my response. "Because all I want is for you to be happy and if having me as a girlfriend isn't enough, then I want for you to move on because I want your happiness first." I meant those words.
Earlier that year, I went over to my best girlfriend's house. She answered the door. What was on her face??? What was that? Hairbleaching cream! What??? A girl with hair that needed to be hidden. Sure enough. There are ways to get rid of the awful hair that diminishes our beauty. How could I sneak around and do the same thing? I didn't want anyone to notice a change; perhaps highlighting the awful hair existed in the first place. However, would that be enough to make the boy see me in a new light? Nah, not worth the risk.
Many, many years later, as thoughts of Botox and liposuction creep in, perhaps I need a Brazilian wax... Nah, not worth the pain.
What about those other two boys? They were both so cute, and had many friends, and were athletes. I don't remember if either of them ever had girlfriends. One I know, the one I still know, says he didn't date in high school. He could have. Lots of girls liked him. Both of those cute and popular boys had good friends. There were times I would have counted myself among them, even though I have virtually no specific memories of them. Oddly enough, I remember their mothers as much as I remember them. Those other two boys, they were very important. Very important. Actually important.
Those two boys, perhaps crushes for a bit, taught me something very important. They taught me to expect kindness. Two kind young men, who each at times told me in some way or another to stay away from the third boy, they taught me that when I grow up I will deserve a man who treats me well. One was thoughtful enough to point out last year how bad the big crush looks now. Important friends indeed.