I do not have permission to use the dark haired boys’ real name, and while I thought of giving him a traditional male name other than his, I could not for the life of me think of a suitable alternative. In this regard I shall call him First, because he was the first man in my young life to see me, I mean really see me as a person, a whole human being, unique and utterly dorky unto myself. That is how I felt around First, as if no one had bared witness to my life until he showed up. We spent only days together because he was due to leave just as we had gotten there. The wondrous time we had was based on mere hours when broken down rather than weeks or years. We walked the beach, spent hours talking, holding hands, kissing under the stars, reveling in the serendipity that had brought us together. Under no other circumstances could it have been possible for us to meet. First lived in another state having travelled hours to the beach with his friend before he was to go off into military training and head back to college. I lived hours away from his home back in Ohio, doing little except being sixteen and living small in my small town. I knew then as I know now how exceptional our time together was. First was no minor fling, no summer romance to be soon forgotten after the leaves had begun to change their color. He was a man who effected me so deeply, so profound was my love for him it would change me forever. I watched his face constantly. It was as if I knew I must memorize every expression, every crinkled brow, every tiny nuance of his face, so I could carry it with me long after he departed. I had never laughed as hard as I did with First. His brilliant mind, gentle hands and warm smile made me feel as if I were home, home in a way where I could be me in my fullest possible extent. First made me feel extraordinary. I had never felt that with anyone before, not my family, not my friends, not a single person had the ability or talent to see so far into my heart that I felt I could be anything I wanted without apology. It was such a gift, this love, this untimely surprising freeing of my soul and heart. I bloomed around him like a tightly wound bud, just waiting for the sun to shine on me long enough to allow me to open. It may sound as if I am waxing poetic, but it was this love where I discovered what poetry was, why some wrote so eloquently about the object of their desire. First was indeed a lightning strike, a singular moment in time that altered my interior landscape, moving my mind in the direction of optimism, finding hope where there had once only been a darkened void, I was too afraid to explore.
My God given gift, the one I was blessed with so long ago in the moment I was born and continues to be the thing I am most grateful for is knowing the importance of when divine intervention has taken place. So many times I have been made aware of when important things are happening around me. This was the case with First. I knew in my mind, my heart, that something big was happening and I shouldn’t ignore or reduce it to a simplistic coincidence.
Before I knew what to do or how to handle it, First had to go home. Our time together was up and it was time to let go of his hand. With big sloppy tears in our eyes that fell out over our faces he packed up his camping gear and was gone. We had exchanged information as one would do during an automobile accident. At sixteen all I knew was fear. First assured me he would not forget me, he would call, write me, do anything he could to keep us together at least in spirit until we could be together for good. I wanted to believe him. I felt such desperation as he prepared to leave that we would certainly not be able to make this work. My mind much like my world and my hometown was small. I felt the cruelty of having met what certainly felt like my other half, just in time to let him go. My parents could not understand the depths of why I was grieving so much over a boy, a simple boy met on vacation, especially when our time together had been so short. I became defensive, so I was teased about my immaturity; my naivety was mocked by those who knew nothing of what I felt. It’s funny how when we get older we forget how much we can feel when we are young, before the world teaches to be guarded, closed off, or “realistic”. In years to come, I would become the very thing I despised in the adults in my teenage life. I had been reminded of these feelings, these strong, mind melting feelings that only the unmarred can have, when I became a mother. I would witness my own children go through similar things as I monitored my “realism” in order to spare them what most would consider inevitable. They would get hurt as I did. They would cry and be broken open as I had. I knew with my God given gift I needed to be there in that moment with them, saying only how sorry I was they had to go through it. I had learned, and it would be one of the many lessons First had taught me, just by being in my life.
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