Flashbacks and the Now

I was at an event the other day, helping out a friend.  During the course of our conversation she mentioned a name I hadn’t heard in over twenty years.  It was a name I will never forget.  Though she is my best friend, she doesn’t know my history with this name, with this person.  In passing she said she’d seen him.  Him?  In a flash I felt warm, perhaps I was blushing, I don’t know.  She clarified her statement by giving his last name, but I knew exactly who she was talking about.  Him.  Wow.  I haven’t seen him since 1992.  Why do I remember?  How can I forget?  Does anyone ever really forget the first person they fell in love with?

 

We were never together, though he tried on at least two occasions to get something started.  We were young, I was naive in a lot of ways, but I was (and am) smart enough to know what being with him would have meant for me.  This past Sunday, as I helped out a friend, the music that played was a soundtrack of yesteryear, of high school.  The songs that played, I remember singing them when they came on the radio.  Some I sang when I thought of him.  They reminded me of the love I had for boy I didn’t really know.  They had me replaying parts of my life I hadn’t thought about in a long while.

 

It was interesting, the feeling of having an unspoken question answered.  Over the years, I’ve wondered what ever happened to him.  Now I know, he is still around.  I wonder if he might remember me.  Who knows?  I surely remember him.  It is funny how things seem to come together.

 

I have two “first loves.”  The one I fell in love with at age thirteen, but never really knew, and the one who showed me what love could be (I was seventeen), we were together for about a year.  Interestingly enough, the second knew about the first.  It came up in a conversation we had one day about a previous boyfriend and some of the things that went on in that relationship.  He accepted what I told him, made no demands, and in many ways loved me more than anyone has since that time.  Every so often, like tonight, I get a phone call from him.  Tonight’s call was him letting me know that he’d be in town next month, that he wants to see me.  He is my one.  The only one I’d give a second chance to.  I wonder why he calls, why he wants to come see me, but I think I know.  One of these days, I will ask.  He keeps asking me “so what’s up with you?”  I get the feeling he wants to know if I’m dating anyone right now.  I’m not, but I don’t volunteer that information. He is going to have to ask me directly if he really wants to know.

 

It makes me feel a certain type of way, knowing that when he is in town he makes a point of seeing me.  Years ago, when I was married, my younger sister would tell him that he should “rescue” me.  She has always been his cheerleader.  It’s funny.  I suppose if he lived closer, we might see about the possibilities.

 

In these last few days, I’ve been reminded of my firsts.  I think tomorrow I might dig out the old journals and poetry I used to write.  I don’t write as much any more.  I should.  In fact, I think I will.