First Love

It seems lately there have been many people reflecting on life and love – broken hearts, soulmates, anniversaries, breakups… after reading these, I found myself thinking way back to my juvenile perceptions of “love.” Remembering the butterflies in my stomach when I saw a guy I had a crush on, the agony over what to wear to a party, the drama of the “he told his best friend who told his sister who told me that he LIKES you…” – and what to do with that information.

I can still clearly picture my old Shaun Cassidy T-shirts that I wore religiously (yes, before he produced sci-fi shows, he used to sing and I ADORED him) while dreaming that someday I might marry him and he would sing “Hey Dasi” instead of “Hey Deanie.” In the meantime, I set my sights on Paul, who in fifth grade was the cutest guy I knew. Unfortunately, since I was a geek and Paul was just mean, he shattered my fragile 10-year-old ego by signing my autograph book “Too bad I don’t like you. F/F, Paul.” (On a side note: we did wind up dating for a short time in high school – after I reminded him of his nasty comment he apologized profusely for his immature behavior. And now? He is a bigwig attorney and living happily with his boyfriend and cat. Go figure.)

Grammar school wasn’t very kind to me, I went through a major awkward phase and didn’t exactly draw the attention of anyone of the male persuasion. But my sophomore year in high school, I learned to tweeze my eyebrows (thus debunking any rumor that I was, indeed, a werewolf) and apply makeup correctly. And guess what? I started to gain self-confidence and also started seriously looking for a boyfriend. Sure, I was only 15, but I longed for the romance and bliss I had so far only found in the pages of my “Sweet Valley High” books. Since I went to an all-girls’ high school, the only logical place to look for a boyfriend was at work. I worked with several hotties in the kitchen of the hospital across the street, the problem was that we were all really good friends and I still was pretty unsure as to how to acquire a “real” boyfriend. So I basically just continued being me, and being friendly, hoping that someday one of them would “ask me out.”

Well, one of them did. But it was quite unexpected. You see, my friend Julie also worked with me (yes, the same Julie in my party pics!) and her brother and his friends did as well. There was a little group of us that sometimes hung out together – I say “sometimes” because Julie was the little sister, and it wasn’t until the hormones came into play that Eddie even considered hanging out with her and her friends. But he eventually did, and one day we all went to the water slides. On the way back, I got a ride from my friend Jerry. He was also driving another guy home – Dave. Now, Dave was Cute with a capital C. Longish brown hair, big hazel eyes… and very tall. I guess what you would call “lanky.” But no one really knew Dave, because he was really quiet, and pretty much kept to himself. He kind of reminded me of a puppy dog, always with feathered bangs falling in his face and a lopsided grin. I used to try to get him to talk to me, but he would usually just blush and walk away. Another girl from work, Eileen, had a HUGE crush on Dave, and all the girls knew about it. The problem was, Dave never knew, and since he was so quiet no one ever approached him about it in true “my-friend-likes-you-do-you-like-her” fashion.

So Jerry drops me off first, and I hop out of the passenger side and gallantly put the seat back so Dave can exit the back seat and take over my now unoccupied space. Dave fanagled his long limbs out of the cramped location and I couldn’t help but giggle. He gave me a trademark “Dave” grin, and as I started to follow the front walkway to my house, he spoke. “Hey Dasi?” he said softly. I stopped and turned to face him, which was when he leaned over and kissed me. (Funny, while I’m writing this, that song “And Then He Kissed Me” just keeps playing in my head… because remembering that first real kiss still makes my heart flutter…) Ok, so I had been kissed before, that much is true, but for whatever reason, I felt that particular kiss to the tip of my toes. It was a deep, long, soft kiss, and when he stopped I felt the blood rushing to my face and had no idea what to say. As I stood there looking like a goddamn fish with my mouth still open, he smiled and said, “Good night.” Then he got in the car and Jerry drove off.

Then came the major dilemma. It just so happened that Eileen had left that very morning for a week long vacation with her family. Which meant that she wasn’t around to guilt me into avoiding Dave. Besides, I rationalized, I hadn’t done anything to make him kiss me, he just did it himself. Which obviously meant he liked me. Not Eileen. And that wasn’t my fault, right? After several “oh-my-god-you-won’t-believe-what-just-happened” phone calls, the verdict was in. Since Dave had made the first move, and Eileen was gone, I should GO FOR IT. But I still wasn’t sure what exactly I was going for…

The next day when I saw Dave at work, I tried to act nonchalant. But he managed to corner me alone in the elevator, and kiss me again. As flustered as I was, I managed to blurt, “We shouldn’t be doing this – Eileen likes you.” Dave gave me a quizzical look, and logically replied, “But I don’t like her, I like you.” It made complete sense to him, he saw no problem in the situation. And though I felt a bit disloyal to Eileen, I decided my other friends were right, and heck, Dave just told me himself it was me he liked, not her. He invited me over to his place the next day for dinner, and I accepted.

I’ll never forget that first “date.” His parents weren’t home, but he was still the perfect gentleman. He attempted to make me spaghetti, although he didn’t know the water had to be boiling before you put the pasta in. We sat on the couch and he kissed me, then asked with concern, “Does it hurt when I kiss you?” It took me a minute to realize he meant because of my braces, and I smiled and replied, “Not at all.” He played his guitar for me, not loud headbanger music, but Neil Young songs and then my favorite, “Stairway to Heaven.” With every last squeak in the right place. Dave told me about the dog he had growing up, and how someday he wanted to get another one and name him “Buck” from “Call of the Wild.” I had never heard Dave talk that much in the entire time I had known him, and I loved listening to his voice. He was the sweetest, most gentle guy I had ever known.

Almost every day I would stop by his house after school to see him, and we would listen to records (yes, records) and make out. Sometimes he would play guitar, too, and usually we would talk. One time in particular I remember he put on U2 and “Pride” began to play. As he walked over to me, I exclaimed “I LOVE this song!” He sat down next to me, kissed me softly and said, “I love you.” I LOVE YOU. It gave me goosebumps, but all I could do was smile at him. I mean, I thought I loved him, but he was my first real boyfriend and happy as I was, I was also scared shitless. And know what? He was ok with that.

Eileen returned home to find out that Dave and I were an item, and although she was initially upset, she mellowed pretty quickly. It was obvious to everyone that we were a pretty happy couple. He gave me his jean jacket and every night before I would go to bed, I would inhale his scent – the musky clean smell that was so uniquely him. We would fog up car windows and laugh, and he would stare into my eyes with such depth and sincerity that sometimes it would scare me. He gave me his gold chain that he always wore, and it became a part of me. Our physical relationship never progressed past making out – but it went so much deeper on the emotional level. And Dave never pressured me to do anything I wasn’t ready for – and at 15 I wasn’t really ready for ANYTHING.

Then came the day three months into our puppy love romance that shattered my heart for the first time. “I don’t think we should see each other any more.” Again, me with the open mouthed fish look. Only this shock was not good shock. What was he saying? More importantly, why? “It’s not you, it’s me,” he said (little did I know how cliché that line was). But he couldn’t look me in the eye, and I felt somehow there was more to the story. I gave him back his chain, but kept the jacket and took it home and cried into it all night long.

Being the person that he was, Dave remained Dave… only he was no longer my Dave. We still had to work together, he still said “hi” in passing, but the magical bond was gone. Eventually I found out that he had started dating someone else, right after we had broken up, someone who I had cried to and begged to find out from Dave what had happened: my best friend, Michelle. She lied about it in the beginning, then came clean when I threw the proof in her face – Dave’s admission. Because when I asked Dave about Michelle, he readily admitted that she had asked him out, and that they were seeing each other. His honesty and innocence kept me from being angry with him, but it still hurt. And for obvious reasons, Michelle and I stopped being friends.

My first love is one I won’t soon forget, and though it was short, it was oh-so-sweet. And still, when I hear “Pride” or “Stairway to Heaven” I can still see his smile and almost smell that jacket…

***

I couldn’t end that sweet story with what I have to now write, so I had to put in the little break. Although I like that particular ending, the truth is that Dave & Michelle dated for a few years, then wound up breaking up as well. Only this time, Dave didn’t find someone new on the rebound. Apparently he started dating Michelle after me because she offered him “something” I didn’t, and after their breakup (according to Michelle) he could never find another woman like her, which is why (you guessed it) he is now gay. My opinion, however, is that she scared him off women forever. Bitch.