2005-01-25
Boyfriends.

I was six. He was five. He was a quiet, shy little boy with a freckled nose and flaming red hair. He would buy me gaudy plastic rings from quarter machines. I would chase him around the playground and hug him. Then he'd tell on me.


I think I had my first "serious" boyfriend (although I never once called him my boyfriend) when I was 7. He was dreadfully adorable and every girl in the class had a crush on him. His hair was bleach blond, short and spiked. One day he told me that he liked me. I said that I liked him too. According to the social rules of our elementary school, this exchange magically transformed us into a couple.

We didn't often spend recess together. We trotted outside hand in hand, then split, I waving him off. He would play kickball, and I would play make believe or jump rope or clapping games. When recess was over, we'd meet in line and enter the classroom together. In class, our desks faced each other. I'd grab his pudgy hand in my own little one and I'd ask him about how his kickball games went. He'd give me an animated recount and I'd cock my head and listen attentively.

One day, he told me he had a surprise for me. He led me to a corner of the playground and gently placed me against the wall. He told me quietly to close my eyes, which I did, and then he leaned over and kissed my cheek softly and affectionately. Then he pulled away and went tearing off across the playground. I opened my eyes and smiled and sighed. (One boy in observation that day also had a dreadful crush on me, and later, he repeated this episode. It was thrilling, but he was not so good at being secretive, I only tolerated him because I liked his attention, and it just isn't as sweet the second time around. Besides, he gave me a really wet, sloppy kiss. The first boy gave me a slightly moist, soft, neat and tender kiss.)

Our end was tragic and abrupt. We were spending our recess together, as we didn't often do. Walking around hand in hand with our little crowd of friends on either side. I decided I wanted to play. So I dashed off and ran around the asphalt with my friends. He sent his friends as messengers to me. He wanted to tell me something. I figured it was something trivial, and feeling rather playful, I dashed off shrieking, yelling at him to come and catch me. But he wouldn't chase me. He kept insisting I come over. But I wouldn't. And he wouldn't chase me.

And that was it. He got angry. His friends came and told me that it was no use coming now. He didn't like me anymore.

I immediately dashed over. I tried to grasp his hand in my own and peer into his face. I asked him over and over what he wanted to tell me. I told him that he could tell me now, that I would listen. But he thrust me away. He wouldn't let me take his hand. He wouldn't talk to me.

I deflated.

Of course I got over it quickly and moved on to many other escapades. But that was the first significant conquest and defeat.

I've come a long way since then.


Entirely new meanings have been fused into that once so casual, so meaningless word. An epithet tossed around with the greatest of carelessness has become a delicate piece of precious china I lovingly pass about from my hands.

These days the boyfriend is also the best friend, the soul mate, the lover, the sweetest dream. Disposable twenty five cent rings and awkward hugs have long been exchanged for poetry worth bars of gold and electrifying whispers mingled with gentle promises of fiery kisses.

before & & after