“The magic of first love is our ignorance that it will never end.”
You know I thought boys had cooties til I was about 17, right? Up until that point, I viewed them only as despicable creatures sent to this earth as God’s punishment to Eve. It’s possible I fell asleep in a few Bible classes. I also thought that babies came from swallowing watermelon seeds. I know it might be a bit too precautionary, but I still always buy seedless.
Growing up, all of my other girlfriends were much more advanced in the relationship department. They had “boyfriends” [or whatever the appropriate term would be for the guy that you’re not allowed to be in a closed-door room with but cheer for at football games]. They knew all the definitions of the “bases.” They had someone to send them flowers on carnation day.
Like I really wanted a cruddy, half-dead carnation anyway. Lame. If the school would have hosted lasagna day, it might have been worth the inevitable hassle of claiming one of those smelly boys. However, twas not my fate.
Then one day… wait a minute.
Hold the phone.
I met a smelly boy that changed everything.
My best friend set us up. I believe her exact words were: “There are two guys at my school that would be perfect for you.” They both had brown hair and blue eyes according to the very detailed description of important details that was provided for me. So I opted for the one who was “more funny.” Of course, she had accidentally started dating the other one before I had a chance to meet either of them, so I guess I didn’t really have a choice.
BLUNT FACT: If ever given an option between two of anything, Blunt will always choose funny. Especially if the other options have anything to do with condiments, seafood, clowns, the Southwest, animals that bark, animals that shed, or Neil Diamond. But really, on a scale of 1–> infinity, how sick are we of the Neil Diamond references?
And on a scale of 1–> not a chance, what do you think is the possibility of me stopping?
So we met and instantly fell into premature love with reckless abandon. We ended up dating for 4 years. He was the sort of guy who would drive an hour to bring me a cough drop. Or flowers on a Tuesday.
My Senior year, I was home sick and there was a snowstorm. He was broke, as is the fate of every unemployed high school boy who grossly underestimates the cost of having a girlfriend. He drove to my house and handed me a bouquet of sticks. He said he’d picked them outside of school and he hoped that 1) he wouldn’t get another in-school suspension and 2) it would cheer me up.
I’m not one for sentimental crap, but to this day that is still my most favorite gift. I kept them in the back window of my car until I got in my car accident and they were lost among the wreckage.
That breakup was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through. He was my first boyfriend, I was his first girlfriend. I was crazy about him and he cherished me. We were best friends. The breakup strung out for two torturous years because neither of us could fully let go. I could say that I had my reasons for leaving him, but the truth is – I was too young and immature to appreciate him. We were so young that I never thought he would grow up. It was a classic case of bad timing.
I’ve never stopped thinking about him. We had stayed in touch until before I left for London. I had previously refused his attempts to get back together, but while I was in London, I truly missed him. I tried contacting him after I returned, thinking that maybe we had both come to the point where we could make it work. I then discovered he had gotten married two weeks before I came back.
Three years went by. He had moved. I had heard bits and pieces of how he was doing, but his wife forbade him from speaking to me. I desperately hoped that he was happy.
Then, one day, I was answering calls at the bank and I heard his voice on the other line.
It was good to hear his voice.