Somewhere around middle age, some of us decide we want to dredge up some old stuff and look at it again. We investigate, we discover, we contact, we reminisce. We romanticize. We turn the story around and around in our minds, remember only the good parts, and wonder if it’s possible to return to that golden nugget of time. We dream about what our lives would be if we had made different choices along the way.
The mystery Football Guy who commented on the previous post was my first love. We shared my 16th birthday, my first car date, and lots of kissing. My dad used to embarrass me to death with the old “porch-light flicker move” if the car windows got too fogged up.
Football Guy was gentle and kind and strong. I loved his crooked grin and full, soft lips, and the cute way they dimpled when he tried to make a face. My skin tingled when I saw him in his purple football jersey and tight pants under the glare of the field lights with the rest of his team. I used to search frantically (while trying not to get caught doing it) to catch a glimpse of his gold Chevelle cruising through the school parking lot.
I felt so safe with him.
He knows full well why we broke up. We let our parents talk us into “dating around.” That was that.
I wonder if he knows that I started a hope chest at that early age. I collected silverware place settings that I bought with Betty Crocker coupons, one at a time. My prized possession was a crystal Avon candle holder that had monogram stickers – I took the plunge, applied the “S,” and dreamed about our log cabin in the mountains of Colorado. I really thought I would marry him.
Ironically, I went on to have 3 more significant “S” men in my life. One of them reads this blog sometimes, too. He’s another story.
The break up left me heart-broken; it was the first time I ever thought about taking my own life. I couldn’t deal with all the pain I felt, and I just wanted it to go away. My father had a gun under the mattress of the bed (never mind the half a dozen rifles hanging in the rack on the wall). I dragged myself into my parents’ bedroom one day, and I knelt there beside the bed, looking at that gun. Suddenly, a huge, pointed red face with flames all around popped inside my head, and all I could think about was that I would go to hell if I committed suicide. So I didn’t.
Life went on… I went off to college and started dating Husband Number One, and Football Guy eventually met his wife, too.
He was definitely a good one.