JAN. 1, 2013
I’m sure we have all lived or heard a version of this story billions of times, be it through books, movies, music, or close friends. I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I feel as though this story of meeting and losing my first love needs to be known. Even if it is only read by one person I will be happy. Contrary to popular belief amongst my family, I am neither lesbian nor a prude. [For the record there is nothing wrong with being exactly who you are. Shame on you for bashing someone for being true, especially if you are reading a “Sacred Book” that has been LOST IN TRANSLATION for 3500 years.] I am only a fearful, chubby lady. The way I deal with men liking me is this: I never know if they do. I’m sort of clueless. I just assume nobody likes me. I’ve convinced myself that they couldn’t or wouldn’t ever like me; that all I am to them is a quiet, funny girl, with average looks and blue eyes. But back to my first love: I met him in July 2012 and the funniest thing is that at the time I wholeheartedly believed I had a type and that he wasn’t it. What I thought was my type was a ruggedly handsome man with dark brown eyes that were almost black; he would be tall, a good six feet, with tan skin and broad shoulders. (I read too many romance novels.) The man I fell for did not fit this description and I was one hundred percent okay with that, because he was better.
The first time I saw his face was when he was having an interview for a position at the fuel center where I worked. I was sitting across the room from him in the manager’s office pretending to be paying attention to a quiz, but I was watching his interview like a hawk. At first sight I thought, “GREAT! (sarcasm) Some cute faced, rich looking, frat boy with hair that swoops down in front of his eyes. I have to work with this?” I thought, “He’d better not be a pain in my ass!”(and he was, but I loved it.)
The second time I saw his face was up close, so close that there were only two inches of bulletproof glass in between us. With curiosity and intrigue, I watched him and his friend cross the parking lot; it was already dark outside and the fuel station was empty for the most part. I was reading a book “My Name Is Memory” by Ann Brashares. [it was fairly ironic because his will never fade from mine.] Once he made it to the window, I pretended that I was reading, so when I looked up I made a surprised face as though I was so focused on the book in front of me that I forgot where I was altogether. But I couldn’t fake the surprise I had when I saw his face: his face was kind, he did not look like an asshole, his shy smile was nice and refreshing, he was so polite and it was off putting because he was not what I expected him to be and did I mention he smelled fabulous? I liked him instantly because he seemed so sincere when he said, “Have a good night” (what a stupid reason to like someone, right?).
The week that followed was his training and I agreed to train him because I wanted to see if the person I thought I met a few nights before was real or just a very good day dream. He was real and there was a real awkward vibe. Like me, he takes a while to get used to people. So every time I tried to start a conversation or joked around he would look at me with this serious face like I wasn’t speaking English and he was trying really hard to figure me out. Anyway, I was becoming a little irritated..until one fateful day when something changed; he started talking to me and making me laugh and saying things that shook me. He wasn’t flirting or lying or playing a game, he was being himself, saying what was on his mind. It NEVER occurred to me that there was a guy out there who thought the same things I did in the same way I did. He would say things that I would never speak out loud or things I couldn’t find the words for. I had become so used to men that are a real “man’s, man.” Men that only think about sex, beautiful women, cars, and fishing all the time, men who reflect those thoughts in everything they do. I’m not saying he didn’t think about women or sex (he is a straight male after all). Maybe it was different because who he was resonated with my soul.
“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought that I was the only one . . .””
— C.S. Lewis (The Four Loves)