He was my First, I was his Last!
By kimberly j gray
First Loves are critical and seemingly a fairy tale. They almost all eventually end, but shouldn't this way.
Think back. Come with me
Remember your first love?
Most of us were in high school at the time. Struggling and confused in our early to mid teens. Remember, it consumed our entire world, everything we did, and suddenly, for our first time, life made sense. Being completely overcome with wonderful feelings of love, somehow, let us focus, feel wanted, and for once, felt wonderful, because we had a purpose.
We were convinced to be together, and forever. No other option, not once, entertained our minds. We spent all of our possible time together. Cut class, lied to your parents, became interested in exploring and learning everything about one another.
With such eternal love and dreams, also brought, this fear and constant worry. I feared, my love, my soul mate, without warning, could leave my heart, by falling for an other. This was unacceptable. Viscous, our girlfriends did speak, to take no prisoners. Between the feelings of jealousy and insecurities we transformed into much more than, I think our other half, ever felt they signed up for.
None of us girls had a clue what the boys felt. So we felt compelled to decide their thoughts for them. We clearly, believed we had.
Girls bathrooms and locker rooms held critical discussions about these boys. Information that was shared, very private details. Should it leak out, harsh consequences would be punishment, in the form of rumors and gossip.
Why we did this, or threatened to, I'll never know. I just feel we all thought we were grown up, and at 14, nothing made sense. Except for, love. Looking back, I think we believed no one would break our code of silence. How naive I was, given these very same girls, were messing about with each others boys. Unknowingly to the female, who was busy with her own new love.
But my poor guy, oh my gosh. So many questions, rather interrogations. This was me, ensuring he wouldn't know my panic driven, ruthless, determined, comic book persona that was born, the first time I laid eyes on him. Can we say Psycho?! OK, teenager!
I truly believed, I was being the best girlfriend he could ask for. Now, in retrospect, I wonder how trapped or obligated he felt with our own, new love? Was it ever as big a deal to him, as to me? He seemed to really enjoy my company, regardless of the gossip girls. He was full of some truth serum, I never or am positive he had not been with another, during our time.
Here I was 14 years old, and had already quit school all together. This meaning the last grade I ever completed was grade 8. I still cannot believe my parents or the Board of Education accepted, even encouraged this situation. Regardless, I was always at my old school grounds, acting as if I was still there. I just had no other options, how to spend my time. Then the answer came to me. It was him. His name, was Darren.
Love then, is the love I understand today.
Then the decision came, I knew Darren had already been with a few girls. He was, after all, 16, and 2 years in your teens, is a lifetime of difference. I, still a virgin, [ignoring a previous assault a year prior], had no comprehension of what sex was, let alone something one would enjoy doing. Yet, I also, never before had feelings anything like I was continuing to develop, towards Darren. I also, over the past 6 months, felt I could trust him with anything.
The greatest love of my life. Despite how naive I was,reflecting back, it just doesn't matter. It was my fairy tale, and he was my prince. He being my incredible, Darren.
We shared all the same family issues, alcoholic parents, neither of us knew where our fathers were, once they had taken off earlier, younger siblings, mothers just barely hanging on from a rough time with abuse. I found in Darren, validation. He was laid back, funny, supportive, always joking and encouraging me to write. He was beautiful, cared for other people and somehow, stayed in school.
These wonderful traits he had, caused me, to be even more insecure.
I will never know what it was, to this day, nor why, he fell in love with someone like me. Thinking back, I was so awkward and far from what I believed, a girl should be, for someone like Darren.
Suppose I still carry this trait, and ignore it. Fake that I do not feel this way, and exit if one does catch on.
Darren never rushed me, was gentle and kind, above all else, patient.
There began my entry into a love no one the rest of my life could replace. My first.
And how funny it was that our excursions, became sacred, under the football field bleachers, growing ever so frequent.
Lost, Alone,, Guilty, Horrified, Angry, and Heartbroken. These feelings were growing, not fading. Soon enough, from everyone, to everything, I began hating. We had both lost all our love, our worlds stopped. I had no idea who to talk to, and was pretty sure I didn't want to all the same.
It was if none of this was true, looking back now. Remembering the amount of responsibility and guilt I was feeling and was increasing quickly.
Had I shut my mouth, and just listened to him rather than be a brat insisting him to cross the street, he would be alive and not crushed to death? I kept yelling, hurry up, hurry up hurry up hurry up hurry up hurry up — chanting in my head as I stare at his stone representing an identity to this burial or grave.
I just felt sick. I remember my anger kept growing. Now I was pissed, realizing, that this is how we respect our dead? Why beneath the earth? What's up? I lost it, trying to dig him out and take him to water or even beneath a tree. Clearly not in a healthy state of mind.
My actions proved how confused I was, that all my free time was spent on his grave, and not a sole I could think of to turn to. That's when, what would become a good friend, the cemetery groundskeeper stopped me from digging. W spent hours talking, and he knew so much. That day forward, everyday I spent there, he found time to sit with me awhile.
Given I went to his grave everyday and had all the time to do so, I moved in. Cigarette butts around, pop cans, and the worst, came the drugs.
Whatever means high or not, I wrote. I wrote lyrics about anger and rage, guilt and shame, visions stuck in my head and nightmares.
I always felt Darren was listening and I found some comport in writing. I had found my home, and not yet 15.
I got to know the groundskeeper quite well, he always seemed to get my back. He would gently wake me as night would approach. Their gates closed by 10. Not that I didn't get over those a few nights needing to sleep on Darren's body.
Love and Loss. Our first loves, for the most part, will leave, as I said earlier. Though a shock at the time, many, well I, believed deep in my heart, forever, was just a given.
I truly was lost, so alone, part by choice, and no clue what to do with my time now, never mind, how to leave him alone in that place, where he lie to rot.
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Short Stories by this author.
Short Stories by this author
|Chapter Two-from-My life as a white, female drug dealer (Sunday, June 10, 2012)
Undiscovered Porn Star (Friday, June 08, 2012)
Porcelain Princesses (Tuesday, June 05, 2012)
How I became a writer (Tuesday, June 05, 2012)
no face (Tuesday, May 29, 2012)
Taste his thirst (Saturday, May 26, 2012)
My life as a white, female drug dealer(A story of hope)-chapter one (Thursday, May 24, 2012)