Love never stops

When I was but a wee teenager I had a crush on an older boy who lived down the street. Of course, he didn’t return those feelings, he was… older! A whole 4 years older! I’m not going to call him out by name for his privacy, so I’ll just call him “he”.  He and his brother and sister were very sweet to me, and for a long time they treated me like a little sister instead of the pesky, stalky neighbor kid. They let me hang around their house, took me on weekend canoe trips, and just generally let me be their little mascot. He taught me to play Scrabble and Backgammon, and once, when his brother’s date couldn’t make it, they gave me her ticket to a Billy Joel concert. Even tho he had a date, I still got to sit by him, and I was thrilled beyond thrilled. 

 I had that crush for years and years… in fact, I think it went beyond infatuation. I believe I could even call him my first real love. Yeah, I was very much in love with him. Might still be, you know? And he was the love against which all others would have to measure. 

 Later, just post my teenager status, he was getting ready to leave for college. He picked me up from my job, and the 2 of us drove around town, visiting some of his favorite haunts, old friends’ houses, the house he grew up in… Then we went to a little beach house to meet his sister and some others for an evening of Scrabble. We got there early, and so he lay down on a bed, (in the living room, as is often the case in a beach house) and fell asleep for a bit. Y’all, he was holding my hand as he drifted off. I sat there, propped up on a pillow… no, more like propped up on Cloud 9, a gentle breeze blowing the white curtain through the windows, and.. well just and… I was happy.

After the game, it was time to head back home.  On the way,  we stopped and watched sail boats as they floated under the bridge, and again he held my hand, and again I was happy. Back at my house we sat on the couch and talked about his moving away to college, about my plans… and we talked, and talked and… well, and…he kissed me. A sweet, slow, deep kiss. Nothing more. And then he left. 

Of course, our paths diverged, he went off to live his life, got married, had kids, and I did the same. But that day, that night has always meant something ineffable to me. It was singular, in a life of unique and wonderful experiences.

I wish that I could say that we remained friends. But we didn’t. And I very much regret that. I think we could have been good friends. I think we both missed out on what could have been a special relationship. Not lovers, not anything other than special friends, you know? 

I found out just a few years ago that there is a reason that he would never accept my Facebook request, and it’s pretty funny, tho I can’t tell the details here, again for his privacy. Suffice to say that I did cross his mind once in a while. 

All of this is simply to say: I would love for him to know the impact he had on my life. He was someone who wrote on my slate in big, bold, lasting strokes, and it’s now 45+ years later and I still think of how sweet he was to me. I wish he knew that. I have always worried that he might have thought that he broke my heart. He didn’t. He gave me the highlight of my life, a beautiful memory that i cherish to this day. 

I think the world would be a much better place if we could express our love for one another in whatever form that takes. I’m not talking about flirty sexy love that could lead to potential trouble.  I’m talking about the love that develops and grows and matures between friends. Those kinds of friendships, the ones with shared histories, with stories and memories, are so important. They are a part of who we are.  We just don’t say “I love you” enough to each other, and I really think we should. Our time in this world is so limited. We shouldn’t waste it in NOT loving each other!

PS. Sure, I visit the land of “What If…”, and once in a while I wonder why he chose differently… Sigh…