Today I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a love story (baby just say yes…), of sorts. It’s about my first love, I suppose, as trite and overused as that sounds.
But really, the way I met my first boyfriend is straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, and this fact amuses me, and I rather like to share it, because how many people can say they fell in love with someone they met at the SAT? (Yes, you read that right…). This story is a series of uncanny coincidences, some of them minor, so if you’re wondering at the level of detail I sometimes include, that’s why… So here goes.
It all began on a crisp November morning my senior year of high school. I wanted nothing more than to hit the snooze button another few times, but unfortunately I had a standardized test to get to. The infamous SAT. I rolled out of bed, put on the biggest sweatshirt I could find, paired with an ugly but extremely comfortable old skirt, and trudged out the door looking like I’d been dragged off the street.
I distinctly remember sitting in the car once we’d arrived at the school (not my school… Another random school in the area, because I’d signed up too late) and having my mom tell me to at least brush my hair, and maybe put some make up on. “I mean, I don’t care, mom! Who am I going to meet at the SAT?” I remarked, though I did put on my eyeliner shortly after (ah, insecurity!)
I ran into a school friend who was assigned to the same classroom as me, and by the time we had checked in with the proctor there was only one pair of seats available together. So I sat next to some boy, and pulled out my pencils. I heard him commenting to a friend of his about how his birthday had been a few weeks before, and I casually asked when it was. Incidentally, it was October 19th. Incidentally, that’s my birthday too.
Between the tests we talked briefly, found out we lived within about 5 minutes of each other, though I went to a kind of faraway private school while he was at the local public school. At the end when we were waiting for the proctor to let us out he drew a picture of a hot air balloon with SAT written on it ascending into clouds labeled “College”. I laughed a little. As I was waiting by the curb for my mom he finally approached me and introduced himself, then said he had to go to Improv. I figured that was the last I’d see of him, but I told a few friends about the incident over the next few days and felt bad for not pursuing the opportunity.
Fast forward a week and a half. I was dealing with some nasty stress fractures, and had finally seen the foot-doctor who ordered an MRI. Ordinarily I’d have had to schedule for a week out, but someone canceled and I got a 10 AM appointment for the next day. Afterwards, I intended to go to the public library and crank out some college essays (or die trying!). So I tried the closest library in the King County system. Closed for renovations. The next city over. Closed for renovations. And the next one. Finally I gave up and got only a *little* lost in my home city of Woodinville, and finally settled in at the main Starbucks in town.
I was poring over multivariable calculus (cute, I know) when he walked in through the door.
He sat down with me and we talked for over an hour… After which he gave me his full name so I could find him on Facebook. As it turned out he was really good friends with one of my best friends; they’d been counselors together at camp. And we had a lot of very random mutual acquaintances.
My friend warned me that he was kind of a womanizer… Not in a really rude or demeaning way, just didn’t really get tied down. At the time I told her I wasn’t interested in him like that anyways!
Oh, and another amusing anecdote (and you need to know that his name is Zach): at the time I had a cardboard Zac Efron in my room (it was a gift, okay?!) and my friend and I were exchanging wall posts making snide comments about the 2-dimensionality of poor Zac, and how he was “shallow” and could “never repay my feelings”. Poor ZacH read only her side of the story and texted me, “Your friend is wrong!” And of course I had to awkwardly explain that we were not, in fact, talking about him… He was mortified, but I of course found it endearing.
A few weeks later I asked him to my date dance, and it was honestly the best dance I’ve ever been to. He was funny, he was cute, it was infinitely less awkward than I expected… And just generally went well. A few weeks later he asked me out, and we dated for a few months. There are probably lots of other little minor anecdotes (we shared an affinity for Wall-E, and that was “our movie”; we used to play “the question game”; I don’t know, lots of little things!) but I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that I was very happy.
I don’t really want to bog this down with the breakup either. A lot of it would be me psychoanalyzing his attachment issues. I will say that I was absolutely heartbroken; I get extremely attached to anyone and everyone around me. And for more than a year I harbored hopes that we’d get back together, or something. It took me at least a year to really get over him.
Now, we’re still friends. We still hang out when I’m at home. Things are a little more stilted than they used to be but I genuinely care about him and want the best for him, though I’m not really interested in a relationship. It was definitely a valuable relationship in terms of learning about myself and my relationship style, as well as having made some good memories. In general, it’s bittersweet. But then, life usually is.
And now, since I’ve already written a novel, I will shut up. Also, apologies for the lack of pictures… I’m not *that* keen on plastering my personal life all over the ‘net ;)
Tell me about your first love! Or A first love. Or any love story you’d care to share. :)