1st day of school.

Our love story began when we were 14-year-old freshmen in High School. The transition from middle school—or in my case, junior high school—to high school was exciting and scary at the same time. Although I had friends from junior high school and my neighborhood attending the same high school, I still felt the sense of angst that any 14-year-old would feel when embarking on unfamiliar territory. I anticipated with baited breath this adventure that was ahead of me.

The first day of school was a beautiful September summer day. The leaves were beginning to fall from the trees, yet the dew of summer’s warmth still glistened on our skin and in the air. The weather was picture perfect.

Before the school day ended, I met a boy and he stole my heart. He was a freshman who also applied for the school’s unique academic programs. We were in so many classes together, including homeroom. Because both our last names shared the same first letter, we always sat a few seats away from one another, either in the first or second row – always within reach. It was funny how he seemed to be everywhere I was.

He always made me smile and, whether I liked it or not, he found a way to ingratiate himself into my life. If it wasn’t homework or questions about an upcoming test, he would ask and I was more than happy to help. That is what being in high school was all about. Laughing, sharing homework assignments, and the occasional answer to the ever-present pop quiz. I welcomed seeing him every day and I was pretty sure that he didn’t know it. I was shy and had no idea how to behave when crushing. This back-and-forth cat and mouse, teasing, laughing, joking, talking, ‘can I see your homework’ went on for the next 4 years.

Fast forward to the spring of ’82 and our focus shifted to Regents and final exams. The graduation ceremony had taken place and college was just around the corner. We took to our yearbooks to share our platitudes of grace. We both had hopes and dreams that may or may not have mirrored what we studied in school, but either way, it was time to move on to another chapter of our lives. In the summer of ’82 went our separate ways.

Time went on and I went off to college. I had boyfriends and lovers and experienced life as a young adult living at home. By this time I had moved from Brooklyn and was working full time. We kept our conversation cordial, never crossing the line to anything more than ‘’hey, how are you, what have you been up to? Good to see you, take care.” At the time, I was already involved in a relationship, one that I was working my way through, and out of, and I didn’t know if his life was equally complicated nor did I want to further complicate mine by asking him out. I admit that I was curious about him—as a young woman who’s experienced life, somewhat—so my thoughts traveled to places that I dared to venture as a teen. Time was not on our side. However, it was great to see him and I thought about him long after we said our goodbyes.

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