sanity escapes me

When I was seventeen I fell in what I thought, in all my blissfully youthful ignorance, was love. Of course, the wisdom that comes with age and experience has taught me better. Knowing now what I didn’t know then has afforded me the knowledge that, what I felt at the time, was nothing more than the fervent and lingering twinges of teenage yearning.

We met while working together at a large pet supply retailer. I sixteen at the time, naïve and completely unschooled in the ways of men. The relationship started out rather harmless. He was nineteen, studying to be a veterinarian and had spent the last three years in a rather serious relationship, of which he was still involved. I think we fell for each other at first sight. He had the most incredible blue eyes. But he was taken and my rather sweet, unpoisoned, teenage psyche translated that into the simplest of terms: no way…off limits…officially blipping off radar screen in 5-4-3-2-1.

Every day we worked together brought us closer. Although polar opposite personalities, we were perfectly compatible. I was wild, gregariously witty and incredibly outspoken. He was very cerebral and reserved. While I loved just listening to him and learning about all the fascinating things he knew and all the amazing plans he had for his life, he respected the fact that I was intelligent enough to keep up with him on an intellectual level and clever enough to make him laugh until his belly ached. Despite the wonderful bond we shared and the intensity of feelings I harbored for him, I never once attempted to cross the line.

About a year into our friendship, while stocking shelves together, he told me that he had ended the relationship with his girlfriend. I couldn't believe it. This was the opportunity I had been waiting for. I remember the sensation of a million butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I knew they had been on the rocks for quite some time, as she was an incredibly insecure young woman, and he no longer seemed to possess the patience or fortitude to deal with her psychosis, or so I thought.

Our transition from friendship to lovers was effortless. I was instantaneously swept up in a whirlwind romance that rocked me to the core. Although brief, it was unforgettable and overpoweringly passionate. Unfortunately, I was too innocent at the time to truly grasp the role our relationship played, the void it filled, in my friend’s world. For whatever reason, the person he truly loved was his former girlfriend; I feel he just needed confirmation. After only a few months of separation, they rekindled their relationship. A year later they were married.

Although it wasn’t in the cards for the two of us, I’ve never looked back on him simply as “my first” because I refuse to reduce the entire experience to just sex. It was so much more than that. I am forever grateful for everything we shared and for everything he taught me about life and love.

Years later, I learned through the grapevine that they were still happily married. During one of my visits back to my home state, a mutual acquaintance shared with me a picture of my friend and his family. There he was, holding a brand new baby boy and beaming, while his glowing wife looked on proudly.

As I studied the picture I made a rather interesting observation: his once timid, insecure, staunchly conservative wife had dyed her dull, brunette tresses a brilliant shade of red. Fiery red. Hm...

I had to chuckle. Could have been a whim, I’m sure. Lots of women change the color of their hair. Or, perhaps I left more of an impression than I realize. Funny...I'd love to tell him that, sixteen years later, I am still a sucker for blue eyes.