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I’m a small town girl. When you’re from a small town, relationships are different. They’re solid. They’re long. They’re comfortable. They’re home. It’s a different kind of being known. A different kind of close. A different kind of love.
In that small town, I had a boy. The kind that everyone said would always end up marrying me. The kind where friends would always ask why we weren’t dating. The kind that was your best friend since kindergarten and somewhere down the line you both formed feelings for each other. We confessed those feelings. We acted on those feelings. Other relationships were ruined because of those feelings, sometimes our own relationship.
We were as close as two people could be. Because we knew every detail about each other. And not because we told each other everything but because we were there for it all. He knows what ribbon I won on field day in third grade because he let me drink from his water bottle afterwards. He knows what guys broke my heart in high school because he threatened to kill every one of them. He knows what my favorite restaurant in town was because he had to sit through a thousand meals there with me. He knows who my favorite teacher was in seventh grade because he helped me through that homework. He knew what kind of mat I took my naps on in kindergarten because he wanted to share it with me. He knew where my grandparents lived because I snuck out of their house for our first kiss. He knew all my favorite foods because I stole whatever I wanted off his plate. He knew all my schedules of my classes because he had a note waiting for me after each one. He knew every locker number I had because that was always our meeting spot. He knew my hardest days because we ended those on my front porch or the bottom bunk in his room. He knew every weekend I was coming home from college because he would do everything he could to try to come too. He knew when my face had horrible breakouts because he preferred me with no make up on. He knew what it took to really push my buttons because we always ended up yelling in each other faces followed by a door slamming and my tears. He knew my biggest fears because he faced them all with me. It’s a rare thing to be completely known my someone. But it’s a beautiful thing.
I remember the moment he told me he liked me. Walking down the hallway after school sophomore year. I was dating someone else. Someone who was intimidated by our relationship and had every reason to be. I thought he was so brave for getting that out. But then again, he knew me so well, he knew it wouldn’t scare me away but only pull me closer. He ended up taking a push down the stairs for me. Because my boyfriend saw the truth in our relationship and took it out on him.
We protected each other. We disappointed each other. We loved each other. We challenged each other. We got each other. We frustrated each other. We wanted each other. We hurt each other. How does it end? How are you sure you aren’t supposed to be together? Why was it that every time we tried to date, it never worked? We both expected that to be so simple. But it was so tough. To just be a couple. Even though in every sense of the word, we already were. We’re both dating other people now. We still talk at times. We help each other and encourage each other. We remember old memories for a laugh. And in some ways, even though it should, our relationship hasn’t changed much. I’m scared I’ll always miss him. I’m scared no one will know me like him. I’m scared no one will get me like him. I’m scared no one will love me unconditionally like him. Yet, we both know we can’t be together. People say you never forget your first love, but what about your strongest love?
