Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for August 24th, 2009

I had occasion recently to come face-to-face with my high school crush — the boy I spent countless hours dreaming of, sometimes in lieu of paying attention in class, writing his name with mine a la Mrs. Fangirl-style.  I had it all figured out.  We would each go off to college, earn our degrees, and I would become a novelist and he would be an architect, and we would live an upscale lifestyle.  We would have beautiful children. 

Never mind the fact that he had a girlfriend.  Never mind the fact I had a boyfriend.  Never mind the fact that we ran in completely different circles in high school, and outside of us having classes together he had no idea who I was.  Mere technicalities. 

I knew, you see, that this was To Be. 

This of course is back when I believed in abstract concepts like fate and one true love

Our children attend the same school, so eventually we were bound to meet up.  I felt a queasy mixture of pleasure and embarrassment when he remembered me and asked if I remembered him.  (Oh boy do I, I wanted to say.)  What, exactly, did he remember about me?  I assumed he didn’t know I was alive back then, but now I wonder.  Did he know what a fool I was for him back then?  My face burned hot at the thought. 

In the 25 years that have passed, a great many things have changed.  I am not a novelist.  He is not an architect.  Instead one of us is a copywriter and the other of us is a high school art teacher.  Neither one of us is living the high life. 

And he is not the gorgeous Adonis I worshipped 25 years ago.  Gah. 

After our meet-up, my husband leaned over to me and quietly asked if that was the boy my best friend had a crush on all those years ago, and I admitted that no, he was the object of MY affections. 

There was a pause, as my husband took stock of his imagined rival. 

“Well,” I said, “Twenty-five years ago he was much better looking.” 

And so it goes. 

 

— Mox

Read Full Post »