This post was part of my Blogapalooza First Blogiversary series. I celebrated my blog being around a whole year by giving away presents and sharing stories of my “firsts” in life. The prizes may be gone, but you can still enjoy the stories. (And I’ll give away more prizes soon, I promise.)
I “got” my first boyfriend when I was in 6th grade. I had been pining after Steve for at least a few weeks (an eternity by Junior High standards). I had never actually spoken to him, but I admired his blonde hair (one of the few blondes I ever noticed) and his sparkling blue eyes. (Were they really blue? I don’t know, but that’s what I remember now.)
Steve also had a big, beautiful, hard… saxophone. See, I sat down the row from Steve in band class—through the saxophones, over the trumpets, and down the flutes. That’s where I was. Fluting my sad little love song.
And that’s basically how we got together. I expressed my interest to my friend on my right. She expressed my interest to Steve’s friend on her right. Steve’s friend expressed my interest to Steve on his right. (There might have been a few more people sitting in the row, but you get the point.) Steve thought about it, nodded, and the communication came back down the band row. YES!!
We were officially “going around.” He was officially my first boyfriend.
Steve and I were together for three glorious days. Birds sang love songs on repeat. The blue sky was bluer. (California, remember?) Cafeteria food tasted better. My braces didn’t hurt quite as much. My glasses never slid off of my face. Those were three of the best days of my life.
Now, we never actually spoke during those three days, but they were wonderful nonetheless. We successfully avoided each other every single day. I would sneak shy peaks at him during band. He would cast furtive glances in my direction in Social Studies. We looked, but we didn’t touch. Or talk. Or even stand remotely close to each other.
I longed for more. I yearned for a deeper connection. I wanted our souls to touch. Heck, I would have even settled for a “Good morning, Kelly.”
But, alas, none of it was meant to be.
Three days later, two of Steve’s friends confronted me in the middle of the quad to inform me that Steve wanted to break up with me. He no longer wanted to be my boyfriend. He no longer wanted to be together-even-though-we-were-never-actually-together. He was severing our connection.
What?! But Steve was the love of my life! THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!
Devastated, I choked back my sobs. I held myself together long enough to make it to the bathroom where I had a complete and total breakdown. I sat on the toilet and cried desperate tears—I cried ugly. UG. LY. My heart had been shattered into a million pieces. The love of my lifetime had been lost. I was empty—empty and heartbroken.
I carried that heartbreak for so long. It was such a burden. Such a cross to bear. At least for a couple of days…
Until I noticed Joe.