My First Love

Today I woke up thinking about “firsts”.  There are so many first in our lives.  There are the firsts we might not remember but our parents do:  our first birthday, our first Christmas, our first check up.  There are the firsts we might not want to remember:  our first failing grade, our first funeral.  And the firsts we will always remember:  our first time away from home, our first boyfriend/girlfriend, our first kiss, our first love and our first time.

I’m not sure about men, but most women I know vividly remember their first kiss, their first time and their first love.  Remember that first time you felt a knot in your stomach, a flush in your face and an overall warmth rushing through your body.  It’s a feeling that seems so hard to attain nowadays.  I don’t know if it’s that we get caught up in our lives or what – but something changes.

Sometimes I miss that nervousness, that rumble in my stomach and the sweaty palms that you get when you first meet someone, especially in your first serious relationship.  Remember the first time your lips touched someone else’s lips?  Was it lust or love?

I met my first love when I was 16 years old.  I knew him from the rink – USA of course.  At first I wanted nothing but friendship, then one day after he returned from visiting his family in Florida, I looked at him and felt a wave of something I cannot accurately describe.  A weakness in my legs, a pounding in my head and a feeling of total surrender.

I took him home.  I took him to my prom.  He was mine.  He was mine for 7 years.  Seven.  We even made it through my year in Paris.  God only knows what he was doing in the States while I was studying hard and living my life – but we made it.

At 23, when we broke up, we remained a certain kind of “buddy” for a while but that soon came to an end.  The timing was off.  I wanted nothing to do with him, yet he still loved me.  Before I realized that I still loved him, it was too late.  He moved on.  I hurt him and I lost him forever.

A little while later he called me to tell me that he was getting married and that he wanted me to hear it from him and no one else.  I copped a slight attitude and said, “Great.  Congratulations.  I’m happy for you.”  When I hung up the phone, my mom asked me what was wrong.  Matter-of-factly I said, ______ is getting married and then I completely fell apart.  I cried so hard – a deep sobbing that made my entire body shake and gasp for air.

After a week or so of feeling devastated and sorry for myself, the BITCH kicked in.  I was going to go to his wedding and sit in church and make him nervous.  I was going to do this or that when I ended up doing nothing.

He never did end up getting married and I felt a sense of absolute relief.  It’s not that I didn’t want him to be happy, at the time I just felt like marriage was so final.

I moved on and so has he, but I always wonder what might have been.  We e-mail each other to say hi once and a while.  I even sent him a Christmas card once or twice.  We met too young and grew apart but I will never forget him.  I can never forget him.  Do you remember your first love?

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