My "Perfect" Life - part 18

PROM NIGHT:

And so I moved away that August, to a new town, a new school, to make new friends.

The next spring I discovered the new school held an annual prom. I remember thinking the term 'prom' sounded dated, unsophisticated. But it was a big deal, particularly for the  graduating class, and anyone - or any couple - could go.

B and I had stayed in touch throughout the year. So I asked my parent's permission and then I invited him to the the Prom. He - and his parents - said yes, he would come. And so he did.

I think the visit lasted 3 days. He must have arrived on Thursday, because I remember he came to school with me on Friday. I felt proud to have him accompany me to class.

And that weekend I fell in love.

It wasn't that my green dress and his brown suit complemented each other. It wasn't that he was taller than anyone else in my class. It wasn't even that the Prom was romantic and a 'perfect' evening, though it was nice. Rather, it was that we sat for hours by the hi fi in the living room, holding hands, listening to Olivia Newton John sing "I honestly love you" and saying very little to each other.

For the first time in my life, I felt peace.

I wouldn't have called it that then. Then I called it love. But now I think what innocent, uncomplicated, mutual first love is, is precisely this: a sense of safety, calm and peace with someone you trust and admire and who you know feels the same about you. It's passionate, sincere and deep, yet without any demands or overpowering urges to deal with.

The love I felt for B was not based on an appreciation for his character. If it were, perhaps the relationship would have been sustained or revived later when we became adults. But I was too young to notice character. Nor was it lust that I felt. Instead, it was somewhere in between - a romantic place where personality and attraction meet without any judgement and with the only expectation being faithfulness.

Sometime that summer I received a letter and B confessed he'd started dating someone else. He'd been faithful for nearly a year and even then, in his letter he asked, "Please don't break up with me." I could hear his heart. I knew he was sincere.

But I heard my heart too, and it was crying out to local boy, a good friend who wanted to be more.

I phoned B to break up with him, rather than to write. He was disappointed and I believe I tried to sound pragmatic rather than unforgiving: "We could not sustain this relationship forever and sooner or later we'd have to stop"... or something like that. Though I never told him about the local boy, he was the real reason for my breaking off with B.

I've seen B twice since then. I know we'd never have been a compatible life match. But I have tremendous respect and fondness for that, my first love, and I wish all my relationships could have been as uncomplicated and sincere as the first.

Now I'm married to a lovely man - completely different from B or anyone else I've ever dated. But I like to think that the first relationship set the bar and it is only with my husband that I have managed to rise above the height of that first measuring stick.

Thank you B for being a part of my history.

My "Perfect" Life - part 17

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the height and depth and breadth
My soul can reach when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childlike faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.'


B and I went out throughout the summer. We saw each other almost daily -- sometimes alone, more often with other friends around us, steadily. We played baseball with the group, he nursed an infected wound on my elbow for weeks until it healed. (It was the result of a fall from my bike, which I think I wrote about in a previous post.) I got to know his family a bit when we'd hang out at his place and have a sauna. I don't remember a single argument. It was an unsophisticated, uncomplicated relationship. We kissed often; otherwise we were as 'innocent as doves'.

Then came the night before moving day, with a drawn-out goodbye. And with the stress of the inevitable departure came our first argument.

Somewhere in my mind, all summer long, there had always been the question of how we'd say goodbye. Wouldn't B and I have to break up because I was moving 400 miles away? Or in our naive optimism and young love, had we somehow believed we could maintain the relationship through letters and (perhaps) occasional long distance phone calls? In those days, there were no such things as 'bundles' and calling long distance was pretty expensive.

I remember sitting outside, past dusk, with my impatient father inside, waiting for me to go in and get to bed. But instead, B and I were sitting at the end of my next door neighbour's front walk and talking about breaking up. I'd just turned 15 and his 15th birthday would be in a couple of months. I think I was trying to tell him we should break up, so that he could go out with other girls... He was popular and he liked girls, so it seemed to me that not having to be faithful to me would be practical for him.

But I offended him.

I'm not sure exactly what I said that made him cross, but all of a sudden he stood up and began to walk away. I called to him. It wasn't until he had walked halfway down the block, that he turned around and came back.

I think I said sorry, and we hugged each other. I guess we said 'goodbye'. I remember watching as he got on his bike and rode away. I remember the scene. I must have cried.

All summer long the knowledge I'd be moving away had been on my mind. But there was no real stress until that week of, and especially the night before, my departure. I must have underestimated his affection. To this day I don't understand it. But how treasured I must have been to him.

Self-image often bares little resemblance to reality. I never understood what cool, popular, attractive B saw in me. It would take me years to discover I was pretty and so I never understood that boys liked me. B had real grace when it came to me. There was a spring prom yet to come, and a another visit years later. We eventually did go our separate ways, but with a bit more maturity we might have stayed friends.

What is it that men see in women, that women can't see?

You see, I think he really loved me. I certainly fell in love with him, but that wasn't really until months later when he visited me in my new home and we attended my school's Spring Prom.

Reflections have a tender quality I enjoy sharing.

Until next Thursday, may you remember some beautiful memories and make some others.