Carry On, Carry On

I recently discovered this song, and for no obvious reason, it reminds me of the first boy I ever loved.

Let me say here: he did not love me back. In fact, I’m fairly certain that he had no idea that I was in love with him because then, like now, my ability to know how to act around someone I like is … well, I never quite mastered that skill.  So while he did not love me, we were buddies. Which was simultaneously awesome and heartbreaking because he would tell me about his troubles with the girl he was dating and I would want to a)hug him and then b) punch him in the face, just a little, for not noticing that I was RIGHT THERE, HELLO.

And maybe I should have. Maybe it’s better to announce your feelings and be rejected than it is to never say anything at all and just love someone in silence. My own personal jury is kind of out on that one at the moment.

The verdict has been returned on the following, however: I don’t think there’s anything quite as pure as that first love. I was fifteen, and loved this guy simply for being smart and funny and cute. He made me laugh. That’s all.  The end.

I don’t think of him as “the one who got away” although I suppose we all have a couple of those hiding away in our past.  I literally think of him as “the first boy I loved” – and, to be honest, so does everyone who knew me then.  Including my mother – if I say “Hey,I talked to Z” she will always say “You LOVED him,” as though she needs to qualify him as opposed to the other Zs I know, which is funny because I don’t actually know any other Zs. Just this one.

I loved him. I guess I still do, when it comes down to it. It’s not the same, of course --  twenty one years of being friends later, after he’s been through some stuff and I’ve been through some other stuff, I feel protective of him. I want to shield him from the meanness that we all sometimes find in the world, to take his hand when times are difficult – and, twenty one years later, I still get to do those things. He still gets to make me laugh.

So maybe I’m lucky that he never knew. Because if he had, and we had dated? I was FIFTEEN.  So while that would have made me giddy happy, it was also one bad breakup away from never talking to him again, which would have been terrible thing for my 36 year old self. Terrible and lonely and sad in a way that I don’t now have to be when I talk to the first person I loved, who is still, as it turns out, smart and funny and cute.  And who is also still my friend. The one who tells me to carry on when things are a little iffy.

I’m definitely lucky.