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2015 riverside

7 Apr

I just spent the last hour reading my old journal entries from the winter of 2005. Things were pretty crazy then. I had just finished my first semester of collage where I met (or “met”) and wrote about Newspaper Boy, Editor Boy, another Journalism Boy, Poughkeepsie Boy, Hilo Boy, Old Neighbor, Blue Eyes, French Class Boy, Classmate/Teacher, and Broody Poet. I met girls too, but for the sake of this blog entry, I’m only mentioning the boys… Yeah. I was seventeen, and all I wanted was to be loved. Everything little meant something big to me, and I was aware that I was crazy, but I was so bored and romantically stifled that I didn’t care. As long as something was happening, I was happy. Or as happy as Nothing Really could possibly get me.

During Christmastime, a couple of my high school classmates stopped by to exchange gifts. I wrote about one of those encounters as something really great. We hugged, and it lasted longer than a normal hug. That was the first time, I wrote, that I contemplated giving or receiving a kiss. It didn’t happen that day, but I wrote about meetings with that boy later during the week where I was certain that we both wanted something to happen.
Naturally, a week or two after that, I confessed feelings for one of my best friends who also had feelings for me. I craved excitement like a crack addict craves her next fix. I wasn’t thinking, or I was thinking too much, and it didn’t make much more sense then as it does now. (For the sake of this blog, let’s call this boy Red.) Red and I have a long history of liking each other at the wrong times, so when we finally collided that winter, I couldn’t pass it up, no matter what the risks. We spent a lot of time looking at the stars, and when he asked to hold my hand that night at the beach, I let him. A few nights later, he kissed me in the backseat of our friend’s car. I wrote that it wasn’t electric like I’d expected for my first kiss EVER (I’ve had many years to romanticize a kiss), and that I couldn’t wait to kiss standing up. Weird. I remember, but I didn’t write about, my first standing up kiss tasting like toothpaste and beef jerky. He left for college again just a week after that, and we (but mostly he) agreed to break up.

We’re still friends now, but because he’s still so far away, we don’t talk half as much as we used to. I didn’t know at the time that things would work out so well, and all the heartbreak of leaving would eventually lead me here, where everything really is as I’d always hoped it would be.

Anyway, I’ll write about Van* another time. He’s the boy I started telling you about, but didn’t finish. I think that story will surprise you. I mean, if you know me, you’d be surprised.

*For the purposes of this blog and the boy’s privacy, that’s what we’ll call him.

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