Passing Notes

To my first "boyfriend:"

Fourth grade was a wild time. Between learning geography and practicing those multiplication tables, a friendship sparked into something else. Or did it?

I was your female friend. The one girl you could talk to about... girls. It was the end of the school year. The weather was getting nice, so recess on the playground made things exciting. We would hang out on the swing set, play ball, play tag, and just enjoy hanging out with each other and with our friends. At this point in time, one girl being particularly infatuated with you, which of course meant all the girls were crazy for you. You had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen on a boy—bright blue—and such long eyelashes. You were beautiful, to say the least. You were also a very good friend to me and I to you. I guess that's why you wanted me to be your girlfriend.

Man, did all the girls absolutely HATE me. The odd thing about us, other than the fact that I think you used me as a way to escape the other girls, was the fact that we never really ever actually talked to each other. Every time we wanted to communicate, it was through notes. We passed them to each other all the time throughout class, in between class, at recess... I was still hung up on our friend, but I gave us a try. You were always a gentleman to me. You'd sit next to me at lunch, hold my hand... but never actually talk to me.

Fifth grade: Things were weird between us—all the boys and girls—when we had to learn about puberty. If things were mute between us before, they were more so now... That summer, I wrote letters to you and wanted to know if you'd like to hang out sometime. You never answered my question.

Second day of sixth grade: I sat across from you at the lunch table with our friends on either side of you and next to where I sat. You wouldn't look at me or say anything to me. Everyone was silent and it was tense. One of our friends (my best friend—my first crush) broke the news that you were dumping me for this other girl in our class. I was upset, but I didn't want to show it. I said okay, and we had a fairly normal lunch. I don't think I sat with my best friends much after that. I started sitting with the outcasts instead of the popular boys. I made friends with those that had been also been deemed not worthy enough to be considered cool. And that's what really started me down the path of being wanted, but not by the right people or in the right ways...

Today, I look back on this part of my past with you. I don't blame you for how my future unfolded after you. While I was heartbroken and pushed away from the only people I actually considered friends for my entire life at that point due largely because of our breakup, I can't blame you for the self-doubt, the self-hatred, the confusion, the decisions I made from that point forward. What I can blame you for is your contributions to bullying me once we got up to the middle-high school. What I can blame you for is how miserable I was and how alone I felt at having my once closest friends betray me so viciously. I can't blame you for how I reacted after the fact, but I can blame you for helping push me to the brink. You may not have been as mean as the others, but you still participated and you didn't stop.

-L

Side story:

To my technically first kiss:

I believe it was third grade. You were my friend, but we weren't super close. We would stand next to each other in line sometimes. I don't remember much of these times, but I remember standing in line against the wall during one of the class restroom breaks and we were playing a game where we would look away and then turn around and get our faces super close to each other. Whoever held back or flinched first would lose. We ended up kissing each other—just a peck. After that school year, you moved away. In high school, my close friend started dating you—I have no idea how she found you! I was so surprised when I had heard your name again after so many years. You're still with her today, and I'm so happy you both have found each other. You're great together. Sometimes I wonder if you remember that day in third grade...

-L