First and Forever Love

First and Forever Love

         As a fifteen year old girl, my life was all about boys. Someday I was going to fall in love with a wonderful, thoughtful, caring man just like in the fairy tales. I imagined a wedding in a little chapel all decorated with flowers and lace with a plush red carpet up the center aisle. I just knew that it would be an overly romantic wedding and I would be head to toe in snow white satin, lace, and chiffon. I had it all planned out. I was sure I knew what love was. Love was meant to be perfect, romantic, and timeless just like in all the trashy novels and fairy tales. Finding perfect love was just a matter of finding the perfect man, Prince Charming.

         I thought I was in love with my best friend who I met my first semester at a new high school. He was my age, tall and slender with big blue eyes, blond hair and a personality that mirrored my own; very aloof with a solemn attitude towards life. He just kept contradicting himself. He said that he was so in love with me, but he just wanted us to be friends because he was interested in someone else. As any fifteen year old, it wasn’t long before I was over him and we left it as really good friends.

         Every Thursday night we participated in an amateur tournament at the local pool hall. I loved everything about that place, even the large dimly lit room with the cigarette smoke that hovered and swirled just over your head like a sickening fog that might engulf you at any minute. I loved the bright green felt that stretched smoothly over the unflinching slate table and the sharp click of one billiard ball striking another, coaxing it towards its inevitable fall into an empty pocket. Simply, I loved the friendly atmosphere that enveloped my senses in a warm, soft, blanket.

         One fateful Thursday night, May 6, 1999, I decided that it was time to start meeting new people and couldn’t think of a better place to hang out and do just that. I was a girl on a mission and this would prove to be a good night. I was confident that I would have no problem that night. As passionate as I was about billiards it would be easy enough to strike up a conversation with any stranger. It was just a matter of finding someone that looked interesting enough to focus my attention on.

         Across the room I noticed two boys laughing and carrying on. One was fairly handsome with wavy brown hair that fell, disheveled, over his broad forehead leading down to sparkling blue eyes above a powerful square jaw line. The other I found slightly less attractive. He had smooth black hair and a narrow, slightly turned up nose. He also had this air about him that oozed strength, leadership, and confidence. As I watched them play it became obvious that they were far more skilled at the game than I was. Perfect. I could involve myself in their game as a student wishing to learn from the master. I wove my way through the billiard tables and nonchalantly leaned up against the wall across from their table. I pretended to envelope myself in studying their technique and skill. Sure enough it wasn’t long before we were chatting away. Ben introduced himself first when he lined up a shot near where I was standing. A casual smile played at his thin lips, which enhanced his boyish features making him look no older than twelve. I walked over to the other side of the table and stood next to where the black haired boy was sitting, intensely watching his friend’s move.

         “Hi. I’m Joe,” he said glancing up at me and offering his hand in greeting.

         “Sarah,” I replied casually. I felt the rough callous texture of his palm as I shook his hand. His grip was firm and confident, but not aggressive in any way. He had eyes that even the silver, wire framed glasses couldn’t hide. They were deeply intense and dark grayish blue like the high seas on a stormy night. They had an inner halo of green flecked with brown that reminded me of standing in the center of a dark forest as autumn began to grace its leaves. I could lose myself in those eyes.

         I stayed with Ben and Joe the rest of the evening. I learned that they were seniors at a local high school and that they came up here every Tuesday for their own billiards tournament and usually on Thursdays for practice. When I left with my friend that night I couldn’t wait until next week, hoping I would get to see them again. Sure enough the following week Ben and Joey were there. This time all of my attention was focused on Joey. I did my part for my tournament and when I miserably lost my game I spent the rest of the evening hanging out with him. Before I left that night I walked with Joey over to the locker where he kept his cue. It was obvious by our idle chat that we were both stalling for time: the way you do when you know that something is about to happen, but you don’t know what or when. It wasn’t long before I knew. After securing his cue, Joey looked at me, put his hand on my cheek, and leaned down to kiss me. In that moment something passed between us. In that tiny moment my entire being exploded off into a million different directions and came back together all at once; sparks flew.

         In the next couple of days I had a boyfriend, though not quite Prince Charming. Joey wasn’t thoughtful or caring that I could tell. He never surprised me with gifts of flowers or candies. He didn’t call me all the time to tell me how much he loved me and that he was thinking about me. He didn’t hold my hand, hang on me all the time, or even allow me to hang on him. He always did his own thing without consulting me or even caring what I thought. He was definitely rough around the edges. He was unrefined, untrained, and unbroken and he was determined to stay that way. Above it all, he was still fun to be with and I was determined to smooth him out.

         Early one afternoon he took me to the public library so I could do some research on a paper for my English class. I was so excited. I love huge, elaborate, libraries with rows and rows of towering books. I could spend hours roaming the aisles just browsing the titles awed by the wealth of knowledge. When we pulled into the parking lot of a small brick building I was just a little bit disappointed. Joey followed as I wandered through the dimly lit aisles and selected a few books to assist with my research. We sat at a little table and I mindlessly flipped through the pages as we idly chatted. I told him about my love of nature; the towering trees, the soft grass beneath my feet, and the cool, crisp sound of water trickling down a stream or waves splashing on the docks.

         “Then you will love my place,” he said. “The house is back off the road. It is actually on a little dirt road. The yard is huge with towering evergreen trees and it’s right on the water.” As he described his place I could picture in my mind what it must look like and I was silently hoping I would get the chance to see it soon. Later that day we went to a local dive for lunch.

         Pop’s Drive-In was one of Joey’s favorites. It was a small little diner with an open grill that specialized in greasy burgers and french fries fresh out of a sizzling, spattering vat of more grease; neither of which seemed very appetizing. I wasn’t hungry. After lunch we did drive back to his house.

         Joey’s 1968 Ford Mustang clinched each curve tight as it pursued the narrow two lane road that wound farther from the city. Here and there little housing developments popped up and it seemed the entire little town had settled in the middle of the woods. The road we turned on was unmarked and so narrow that one car had to pull off to the side to allow oncoming traffic to pass. The trees created a canopy of green that shaded the road and its little houses from the heat of the summer sun. As I looked out on the right I saw more than one gated driveway leading up to a luxurious house seated on the river bank. Up ahead the road made a ninety degree turn to the left, but we kept straight onto a little dirt road barely more than a driveway.

         Only three houses occupied the secluded drive. He passed the first, a small two story brick house that reminded me more of a cottage, and turned up the long drive to the second house. Tall evergreen trees stood in the front yard as sentries safeguarding the small, white, ranch-style, house that sat at the head of the driveway. Around the back I could see a large yard that ended in lush green grasses growing in the soft saltwater silt on the banks of the creek. A long boat dock protruded from the grass and stretched out over the blue water that sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. Immediately, I was in love. Deep in my soul I knew I would never leave this place.

         A few weeks later as we were on our way to lunch he was complaining about some mechanical work that his car desperately needed.

         “So what do you want to eat?” he asked jolting me back into reality from my dazed contemplation of what the future might entail.

         “I don’t care. Whatever.” I shrugged as I rolled my eyes. Immediately he turned into a shopping center and parked the car. He looked at me with a mix of anger and disbelief.

         “Will you make a decision?” he asked, “This car isn’t going to move until you tell me what you want! You have to learn to be independent. You have to learn to make your own decisions!” I thought about it for a second then told him what I wanted to eat. We got our lunch and went home, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pushing me to be someone that I was not. Later that evening, back at his place, I sat on the edge of the bed looking up at him. His confidence and strength amazed me. He seemed living proof that leaders are born not made.

         “I’m just not like that,” I confessed. “I’m not like you. I can’t take a stand and I can’t make decisions because I’m always scared of making mistakes and getting hurt. I’m an emotionally dependent person. I need constant reassurance that people still care. I guess I’m just insecure about myself.” He walked over to me and trailed his thumb along my smooth cheekbone.

         “That’s just it, sweetie,” he comforted. “I’m not always going to be here to give you that reassurance. You need to have the confidence to know. Mistakes are a part of life, a part of learning and there is always the chance of getting hurt. You are strong enough. You just need to learn that you can stand on your own two feet. You just need to be yourself and trust yourself. No one should ever expect anything more than that.” I cried. I knew he was right, but I didn’t know how to change or if I could.

         The days and weeks drifted by on the warm summer breeze until one night, July 5, 1999, we went to the local beach before saying our goodbyes. We stood under the pale lamplight at the end of the pier. The moist summer breeze carried the scent of his cologne as he moved closer to put his arms around me. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes working to memorize every detail of this moment. Tomorrow morning he would leave to serve his country in the United States Marine Corps. As proud as I was, I didn’t want him to go. When he dropped me off at my house that night I stood on the front steps and watched him walk away. Halfway down the sidewalk he turned and came back. Tears quivered and threatened to fall from those intense eyes. He hugged me one last time and whispered, “I love you.” We promised to write and I promised I’d be here when he came home. Then, he was gone.

         I was sixteen years old and for the first time in my life I met someone that caused me to question my own outlook on life. All my plans, everything I thought I knew about my life was suddenly in jeopardy. The connection I had with this person was like nothing I had ever felt before. In the time I spent with him I realized that there is no perfect man and there is no perfect love. Love is not defined by a fifteen year old girl cooing over her boyfriend, but by a young woman that upholds her man even when he is “weak with evil and broken by the world.” Real love does not happen magically or spontaneously as for Cinderella and her Prince Charming. It is molded though years of trials and tribulations; when two people have the strength to walk through the fires of hell and come back hand in hand.

Happy Writing!

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