My First Love

He was my middle-school sweetheart. Seventh grade. Belzer Junior and Senior High. And it was love. True love. I was thirteen and he was eighteen. I know. I know. I'd heard it all before. Five years is nothing when you're adults, but when you're still legally a child, it's still illegal in all forty-eight states. Love adheres to no rules, knows no boundaries, rarely listens to reason, and is relentless in its pursuit of happily ever after.

It was during one of my many adolescent pursuits of happily ever after when I first saw him. I was standing outside my seventh-grade classroom waiting for the teacher to unlock the door when I heard a commotion at the far end of the hall. White billowing smoke like you see at concerts and in the movies obscured my view. Then, suddenly, out of the fog, he appeared. He was beautiful. No, really he was. I know everyone says that about their ugly love interests, but in this case, it's true. More like gorgeous, actually. Gorgeous on crack. Yeah! Like that. Anyway, the lights dimmed, the music started and this black-haired, brown-eyed Adonis, along with his doting entourage, began walking--in slow motion--right toward me. Me! I pushed my glasses higher up my nose so I could get a better look. Oh, my goodness! What a vision of perfection.

You know how when you hear people say "It was love at first sight" you think to yourself "Wow! That person is really dumb!" Excuse me? You don't think that? Really? I could have sworn that was you. It's my memory. Not so good anymore. Anyway, when Adonis and his cheerleader girlfriend came down the hall and walked right past me, it was, it was, it was love at first... . Wait a minute! What just happened here? This is my fantasy. Who stopped the smoke machine? Who unplugged the music? Who put that cheerleader in my fantasy?

I did. I cannot tell a lie, Okay, that's a lie. I lie all the time but for the sake of this story, it was me, the sixty-eight-year-old you with retrospective vision and hindsight wisdom who took the story away from you, a really dumb thirteen-year-old.

NOW FOR THE REST OF THE STORY (seven years later)

He was my first love. I was twenty and he was twenty-five. I know. I know. Adults, so no big deal in all fifty states.  I had known of him since the seventh-grade when he was the fantastical object of my desire. But it wasn't until a blind date in 1966 brought us together that I realized I might have been wrong way back when. But then there was still that beautiful face and the Corvette and the boat and the house on the lake and the control and the...and the con... . Wait a minute! What just happened here? This is my story. I should be able to tell it however I want.

Okay then. You tell the story. I'll stay out of it.

There was his wonderful sense of humor and his intelligence and his infideli...uh...his infidel... . Alright, you can tell the story.

Nah! I think you just did.