This is the story of my first love, my secret love. I observed that young love submits to the arbitration of time. Find out why.
My First Love
“Grace, this is preposterous! What on earth is that picture of an idiot doing in your room? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Some guy, ha?”
There goes my naughty Mom again. I smiled a rather stupid smile in return for the slander. Mom stamped her foot and, looking like an assassin, resumed the scandal:
“Grace, listen: While your feeling is your private affair, I feel that as your mother, it is my duty to remind you that books and love are mutually exclusive things.” Having said that, she glared like a starved lioness and banged the door after her.
In my room, I could not help it: my eyes sailed over the picture on the wall–slim and firm biceps… his eyes, two stars that did not find a home in heaven. Freddie, my love, my life, god of my unending fantasies…my everything! What can I not give up to be your girl?
Freddie was our high school debater; I was the school poet. When I recited before our class, my eyes went a-neighboring to Paradise. There he was among the scented roses, a dream too bright to last, the most beguiling thing under heaven. Hypnotic: I could look at him till kingdom come. Then I would wonder if he found me beautiful. How true it is that the most beautiful thoughts and feelings cannot be said and seen. My eyes only had to wander in his direction and I would commit a thousand blunders.
My passion was feverish: His photos graced my albums. He was the guy in my diary, the tintinnabulation of my aching heart. When he smiled at me, the white clouds became pink. I would blush like a ripe tomato at the mere mention of his name. I was ready to choke when people talked against him. His presence was my glorious morning; his absence my dark night. All my days were trances. I talked Freddie, ate Freddie, saw Freddie, thought Freddie! At night he was the whisper in my sighs. I slept Freddie, dreamed Freddie, woke up Freddie! Grrrrr! It was like every minute I must begin to scream. I wanted to be understood, the longing of a heart that loves. Oh, I was moronly in love!
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