I was 12 years old that summer.
He was seventeen, and oh so hot. At least that’s what I remember.
He was broad-shouldered, and kept his brown hair short. He was of about average height; didn’t smile too often but when he did- oh my. His eyes were piercing blue. When I stop to think, it was his eyes that I remember the most.
I saw him only a handful of times. I tried to convince myself he liked me. Of course he didn’t, I was only twelve after all! I wore glasses, had crooked teeth, and my body sure wasn’t anything special either. And I was mouthy.
But I sure liked him. He was the first guy I couldn’t stare down. The first guy who made me tongue tied. I don’t think we ever had a real conversation. He tried talking to me once, when his friend- our mutual friend, and my sister and her boyfriend we’re in the process of getting our friend’s bronco out of the mud.
My sister intervened and spoke for me. Maybe I hesitated too long, so she felt sorry for me and spoke for me. I don’t know. I remember being angry. I remember his eyes meeting mine, and he just stared at me.
It was a full moon that night, as they fought to get the bronco out of the mud with the truck. It was beautiful. I don’t think my heart ever slowed down to normal that night while with him.
He made me want to be a woman. He made me feel things I had never felt before. Even though at twelve, the idea of kissing wasn’t appealing to me, he made me want to experience it. And I don’t think I ever wished more than I did than, that I were older.
I loved him for eight years, never gave up hope for eight years that one day this love would be returned. But it wasn’t, and I had to move on.
So now I’m here, ten years later. Spending Valentine’s Day in bed, with my laptop while my boyfriend is at work. Reminiscing on my first love.
It was his eyes that drew me to him. It was his eyes that I remember most about him.