I present to you a story where I
have had to change the names of the people involved. This is partially for their
privacy, but mostly just because I don’t want to be forced to flee an angry mob
of old, homicidal friends.
So nuts to them. I'll tell it how it happened to me, how I felt about the whole flam-blasted thing, and what went through my head as I tried to survive my first love.
Once upon a time, I had an 8th birthday party. I had recently moved back home from a short stint in Missouri and was living in a small house in suburbia. Sometime during the festivities, a friend of the family stopped by to wish me well. He had also brought a close friend along. His friend was 16. His friend was gorgeous. His friend was mysterious. His friend was dark, brooding, tall, and everything an 8-year-old girl could dream of.
I was IN LOVE.
We'll call him Don Juan, because that's just ridiculous.
Historically speaking, the world of Rachel can be a rather glamorized and dramatic thing. New hair cut? I AM A SUPERMODEL. 0_0 Sliver in finger? CALL AN AMBULANCE. 0_0 Catchy song? NEW THEME SONG FOR LIFEANDFOREVERANDMUSTLISTENTOIT1,000TIMES. 0_0
So let's just say that when a perfectly normal, gangly, awkward, (and probably zit-covered) teenage boy walked in...I saw the love of my life, replete with splendor.
I knew I was at a disadvantage. I simply wasn't glorious enough to attract the attention of such a magnificent specimen (age didn't even make my list of issues). So I implemented a plan.
Ten minutes later I was in my best dress, inside my Little Mermaid tent, up in the attic...waiting. It wasn't long before the opportunity arrived. I heard Don Juan enter the attic, and I enacted my "Ultimate Seducing Plan".
I began to sing "Part of Your World" from Disney's "The Little Mermaid". In my mind nothing could be more seductive than my 8-year-old falsetto, singing a song of romantic longing. I pictured myself as Ariel, stunning Don Juan with my angelic voice and gorgeous features.
Don Juan left mid-song. Not to be deterred, I ran to my room and grabbed my most prized possession, a set of paper dolls...which I then presented to the departing Don Juan as a sign of my profound love and adoration. I found out later that night that he had passed it right back to my parents. I pined for days. Then my family moved us away from Longview.
Without an once of hesitation, my darling Don Juan asked me if I would want to take him as a date. He probably wasn't expecting the speed and rapture with which I embraced this plan. One month later found me peacocking around my homecoming, an older man on my arm, TOTALLY head over heels. He was a terrible date once the dancing started, but lucky for him there was a charming young man who made everything better that night (a story for another time).
Another year went by and we moved back to Longview. Don Juan was present for my surprise 16th birthday, and I considered him my dearest, closest friend. By my 17th birthday I couldn't imagine doing anything significant without him. And then it all blew shit-wide.
While Don Juan was my closest friend, I also had a lifelong best friend. We had been best friends since before we could walk. She and Don Juan were the most beloved people in my life. So believe me when I say that I felt like the world's most idiotic tool when it came out that they had been secretly dating for nearly a year. You could have heard my heart shatter a mile away.
Suddenly every clandestine moment I witnessed made sense, and the feeling that I was the grand third wheel to help keep the secret hit me like a ton of bricks. But in all that I didn't get a moment to cry...because the crap was hitting the fan. I found out at the same time that the people they were hiding it from found out. And what did those people do? They called me and and brought forth accusation after accusation about how I covered and lied for my most beloved friends
Literally no one believed that I, of all people, wouldn't have had a clue.
I found out with the first call. That afternoon saw Don Juan in my living room, sobbing at my mother's feet. It also saw me give one hell of a what-for speech to one of my accusers. That day marked the end of the relationship between my friends...and my first broken heart.
In June I drug him along on a cruise to Mexico. He spent the entire time in ridiculous shorts and eating olives out of the martinis that he would order so he could feel like James Bond. It was a blast. But one of my strongest memories was how hard I tried to look beautiful. I kept thinking that I just wasn't beautiful enough for him to love me. If I could just wow him enough, maybe he would see what was right under his nose. Girls can be serious idiots. Well, okay...I can be a serious idiot.
Homecoming, Prom, and Mexico weren't enough...so in September we decided to travel to Great Britain. All through England, Ireland, and Scotland we stuck together and explored the great wide world. I wanted to share every moment with him. To this day the thing I remember most is how he mocked my pathetic attempts at accents. I couldn't defend myself against his contempt, because at the time I wasn't aware that I had an actual condition. The same thing that makes me able to learn a language in a month of exposure also makes me sound like an idiot in English speaking cultures...I am incapable of not parroting what I hear (and not often well). Sadly, he made assumptions about it and thus the second knife-to-the-heart occured.
My favorite moment was on a ferry from Scotland to Ireland in the middle of the night. Don Juan followed me around the ship with a camera, singing the "Loveboat" theme song with all the hilarious pomp he had to offer. It was all so ridiculous.
I've never been one for secrets, so I can't imagine that my heart was a mystery to him. But I finally decided to tell him out loud. For ten years I had loved him, and I believed that he loved me too. So late at night I looked him in the eye and told him so.
He stared at me for a moment, and then he responded.
"Don't wait for me."
Not "I don't love you", or "You're like a sister". Not an explanation, not an ounce of closure, and not an ounce of honesty. To this day I don't know the other half of the story because he wouldn't tell me.
Anything would have been preferable to that. He could have told me I was too young, too ugly, too annoying, too perfect, too female...ANYTHING but what he said.
"Don't wait for me."
Every tear, every heartbreak, every hope, every trip, every laugh, every concert, every dinner, every secret shared, every hug given, every moment of happiness, sadness, confusion, loss, loneliness...all stricken off the record. Ten years of my heart just vanished and I had no way to fix it. I wasn't worth a yes or no. I wasn't even worth an acknowledgement.
All I got was a directive that allowed him every escape and offered me none. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my body, only to be found useless and chucked aside.
I asked him to take me home, and after he had left I sat outside under the stars and cried for hours. As is habit with me, I wrote a poem (I can't seem to resist it when I cry).
Just before dawn I walked into my house, spun a globe, and picked a destination. Apparently, I was going to New Zealand.
And I never looked back.
I am also compelled to point out that this story is the most one-sided of anything I have ever written. I usually like to explain both sides as well as I can, so I'm not just inadvertently burning bridges willie nille. Sadly, nobody ever told me jack squat about their side of things. For all I know, I had this wonderfully majestic drama all played out BY MYSELF.
Self: "Romeo, oh Romeo! Wherfore art thou, Romeo?!"
Self: "Dude, I'm here...like, seriously, occupying the exact same space you are."
Self: "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!/ For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
Self: "I think that was my line..."
Self: "Quit ruining my story, self."
Self: "Whatevs...I'm outta here."
So nuts to them. I'll tell it how it happened to me, how I felt about the whole flam-blasted thing, and what went through my head as I tried to survive my first love.
I was IN LOVE.
We'll call him Don Juan, because that's just ridiculous.
So let's just say that when a perfectly normal, gangly, awkward, (and probably zit-covered) teenage boy walked in...I saw the love of my life, replete with splendor.
I knew I was at a disadvantage. I simply wasn't glorious enough to attract the attention of such a magnificent specimen (age didn't even make my list of issues). So I implemented a plan.
Ten minutes later I was in my best dress, inside my Little Mermaid tent, up in the attic...waiting. It wasn't long before the opportunity arrived. I heard Don Juan enter the attic, and I enacted my "Ultimate Seducing Plan".
I began to sing "Part of Your World" from Disney's "The Little Mermaid". In my mind nothing could be more seductive than my 8-year-old falsetto, singing a song of romantic longing. I pictured myself as Ariel, stunning Don Juan with my angelic voice and gorgeous features.
Don Juan left mid-song. Not to be deterred, I ran to my room and grabbed my most prized possession, a set of paper dolls...which I then presented to the departing Don Juan as a sign of my profound love and adoration. I found out later that night that he had passed it right back to my parents. I pined for days. Then my family moved us away from Longview.
6 Years, 15 Days, 25 Minutes Later
I was 14 and my mom started driving me all the way back to Longview for a youth group.
I liked it.
I liked it even more when I came face-to-face with the now-22-year-old Don Juan. In retrospect, I should not have been surprised that he recognized me.
Over the next year we ran into each other while working concerts, eating at Shari's, or attending youth group. He made me laugh, he listened to me, he talked to me about the things he loved. In many ways he was a braver person than I, and I found that enchanting. He introduced me to a whole new way to live...full of music and friendship. Pretty soon he would drive all the way to our house to visit. It was on one such visit that he found me oozing around the house, crammed with self-pity over my lack of homecoming date.
 | |
| Tom Hiddleston, Homecoming Date |
Another year went by and we moved back to Longview. Don Juan was present for my surprise 16th birthday, and I considered him my dearest, closest friend. By my 17th birthday I couldn't imagine doing anything significant without him. And then it all blew shit-wide.
While Don Juan was my closest friend, I also had a lifelong best friend. We had been best friends since before we could walk. She and Don Juan were the most beloved people in my life. So believe me when I say that I felt like the world's most idiotic tool when it came out that they had been secretly dating for nearly a year. You could have heard my heart shatter a mile away.
Suddenly every clandestine moment I witnessed made sense, and the feeling that I was the grand third wheel to help keep the secret hit me like a ton of bricks. But in all that I didn't get a moment to cry...because the crap was hitting the fan. I found out at the same time that the people they were hiding it from found out. And what did those people do? They called me and and brought forth accusation after accusation about how I covered and lied for my most beloved friends
Literally no one believed that I, of all people, wouldn't have had a clue.
I found out with the first call. That afternoon saw Don Juan in my living room, sobbing at my mother's feet. It also saw me give one hell of a what-for speech to one of my accusers. That day marked the end of the relationship between my friends...and my first broken heart.
One Year-Ish Later
Things had changed. I dated my first official boyfriend, traveled to the East Coast, started figuring out what I was going to do as an adult. I never told Don Juan where my heart was, so we were still rather inseparable (or maybe I just wouldn't leave him alone...who the heck knows). I knew his family so well that I considered his home my own, I picked on his brother (until he got bigger than me), and I thought the sun rose and set on his mother's command.
Just after my 18th birthday, while hanging out at the church coffee shop, Don Juan got down on one knee, offered me a rose, and asked me to be his date to my prom. Like. A. Boss.
He then proceeded to find a broken down limo and work to make it presentable. His dad was our chauffeur, there was white shoe polish covering black marks all over the exterior, and I was thrilled.
 |
| Tom Hiddleston -Prom Date |
 |
| Me trying my damndest. |
Homecoming, Prom, and Mexico weren't enough...so in September we decided to travel to Great Britain. All through England, Ireland, and Scotland we stuck together and explored the great wide world. I wanted to share every moment with him. To this day the thing I remember most is how he mocked my pathetic attempts at accents. I couldn't defend myself against his contempt, because at the time I wasn't aware that I had an actual condition. The same thing that makes me able to learn a language in a month of exposure also makes me sound like an idiot in English speaking cultures...I am incapable of not parroting what I hear (and not often well). Sadly, he made assumptions about it and thus the second knife-to-the-heart occured.
My favorite moment was on a ferry from Scotland to Ireland in the middle of the night. Don Juan followed me around the ship with a camera, singing the "Loveboat" theme song with all the hilarious pomp he had to offer. It was all so ridiculous.
January 8th, 2003
I've never been one for secrets, so I can't imagine that my heart was a mystery to him. But I finally decided to tell him out loud. For ten years I had loved him, and I believed that he loved me too. So late at night I looked him in the eye and told him so.
He stared at me for a moment, and then he responded.
"Don't wait for me."
Not "I don't love you", or "You're like a sister". Not an explanation, not an ounce of closure, and not an ounce of honesty. To this day I don't know the other half of the story because he wouldn't tell me.
Anything would have been preferable to that. He could have told me I was too young, too ugly, too annoying, too perfect, too female...ANYTHING but what he said.
"Don't wait for me."
Every tear, every heartbreak, every hope, every trip, every laugh, every concert, every dinner, every secret shared, every hug given, every moment of happiness, sadness, confusion, loss, loneliness...all stricken off the record. Ten years of my heart just vanished and I had no way to fix it. I wasn't worth a yes or no. I wasn't even worth an acknowledgement.
All I got was a directive that allowed him every escape and offered me none. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my body, only to be found useless and chucked aside.
I asked him to take me home, and after he had left I sat outside under the stars and cried for hours. As is habit with me, I wrote a poem (I can't seem to resist it when I cry).
"The stars are dimming with the night,
The tears I weep are all alight,
Yet here I stand, in waking day,
Pale flower I, bright river they.
The sun will rise o'er the low,
And bid the moon that ere she go,
She'll waken lovers with her beam,
Til next they meet in starlit dream."
Just before dawn I walked into my house, spun a globe, and picked a destination. Apparently, I was going to New Zealand.
And I never looked back.