I didn't know how hard I would fall after the first moment; it wasn't romantic, and neither was any other moment in particular that followed. I was just smitten. His name, for the sake of this, will be Stanley. I met him at the ripe age of 10 years old. We were in the same class, but were separated from the rest of the class for math and reading with others because we were at a different pace than the rest of the class. We had a separate program that would pull us out from class because of this same instance (I later learned that all of the students that made it into this special program tended to have ADHD, but because I am a girl and had good grades, I wasn't tested and neither were some of my classmates - we only learned this in high school).
Stanley and I were at a table together in the hallway, working on our respective projects for class. I remember distinctly that I set down a pair of scissors I was using for a moment, so I could resketch something for my project. He picked up the scissors absent-mindedly to continue working on his. I have a younger brother and had to share a lot, but I didn't like the idea of him taking them without asking first, and it upset me. I turned on him in that moment, in fourth grade, and about threw a tantrum because it wasn't fair that he didn't ask first. He pointed out I wasn't using them in that moment, and it shouldn't be a problem because it would be quick. I was still upset, but the meltdown ended, and it surprised me. My emotions often at that age were so intense that I could never control them, and I ended up with hives when I was anxious or cried so hard I almost threw up when I was sad or scared. He managed to rationalize with the inexplicable sense of morality that arose, and because I couldn't argue it with anxiety or fear, it dissipated.
The frustration I felt towards him was palpable after that, but not well-founded. I would notice when he was called instead of me, and to my chagrin, would know the answer. This attitude continued until I got into sixth grade and had a Spanish class with him. I blame the romanticism of the language for why I fell so hard. One day in class, the frustration diminished and transformed into admiration. I thought it was cool that he knew the answers; it made him more interesting to see in class, and if we had to talk for assignments or in-class work, I didn't feel like I had to work as hard when I was with him, because I could work at my own pace and not have to slow down. It was glorious.
I didn't know that he had ADHD at the time; he was only just figuring it out. He would be really nice most of the day, and then, as I later learned, his meds would wear off, and it made the time without them so much worse. The avid reader I was, I read a plethora of romance novels and had all these ideas of what love should be, and was actively trying to re-enact them - my older self regrets these moments, but I was an awkward teenager who wanted a cheesy romance. By this point, I thought I had fallen in love two or three different times, despite the fact that I had only "dated" one boy. I was in the throes of my latest romance novel when I noticed him in a different way. He seemed sad, and I wanted to fix that.
I know the whole "I can fix him" trope now, but at the time, I genuinely thought maybe if I asked him what was wrong, gave him company, and supported him in general, he wouldn't feel so sad. I didn't know that his problems were a literal chemical imbalance; I thought he was brooding and just needed to know he had someone in his corner. So I didn't leave him alone during any of the classes I had with him. I was convinced that was a way to be in love. But it didn't occur to me that he may have found that annoying. One day, realizing I knew as many answers as he did, he tested the waters by asking if he could copy off my homework. I was mortified. I felt like one of the characters in my books was abused for her intelligence and naivety, and suddenly gave him a cold shoulder - that he didn't seem to notice.
It was sometime around this time that I realized that I never stopped noticing him or watching him. I felt mad at myself because he wasn't bad looking and I admired how intelligent he was, but I couldn't stand that he might be rude or be willing to cheat. I told myself to stop noticing him, which worked as well as one would imagine; I only noticed him more. To get my mind off him, I played a game with my friends that forced me to be anxious for a completely different reason. Losing meant I had to ask someone out and actually make plans if they said "yes" - I look back on this once more and wonder what was wrong with me, but asking a stranger to date me was less scary to me than how often I was thinking about Stanley.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJqpgjygWMY
I asked out half of the people in my grade before I could stop fixating on him (all of whom said "no" and most of whom knew I played this game and that was the consequence and wanted to save me the consequence - we never made the person someone who was already picked on or people's actual crushes because we thought that was cruel, I guess one silverlining, again, why did I do this? Oh, yeah, to forget Stanley.) The end of the year came before I knew it, and I had started noticing Stanley again and accepted that it might be a crush, not just frustration or preoccupation. So as a last-ditch effort, I found a place and a time to ask him out when others wouldn't be watching, but I miscalculated something.
In middle school, when you spend a decent part of the year asking people out for no reason, you have a reputation for asking people out for no reason. So, it should not have come as a surprise to me that he knew I had done it. He thought he was doing me a favor and rejected me there, hoping to help me out. Little did he know, he crushed my spirit. I smiled and nodded and walked away before crying in the bathroom for about 10 minutes. I told my teacher I had a particularly painful headache when I returned, which was true by then, and stayed in the nurse's office with an ice pack and Advil. And that's how my first crush ended.
I still had to see him in high school, I watched him date other girls and wondered what they had that I didn't... A reputation for not randomly asking people out for one... But I eventually moved on. I still felt strong feelings when he talked to me, but I'm not sure that it ever would have changed. The first "love" is definitely the strongest. One day, when I was in my senior year of high school, I got to a point where I could ask Stanley what he thought about the whole thing and what his perspective was from the first moment. It was the splash of cold water I needed.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUOiRfAi0ux
I started to think about the memories differently and understand that while I met him and fell in love, he was living a completely different story, and I needed to move on to someone who wanted to be part of my story. I recognize how gross and cringey I was, and chalk that up to the machinations of a 13-year-old who read one too many romance novels. I don't blame her anymore, even if I shake my head and beg myself, once more, WHY? Because I was young, dumb, and in love. No, I never dated him, I am not dating him, nor will I. He's a great person, though, and I like getting updates on the occasion I see something on social media, because the things I admired about him back then are still true now, but it doesn't mean I love him. I wish him the best in every way, and I am grateful that of all the people I could have fallen in love with for the first time, it was him.
I hope that this made you laugh, cringe, and aloud whisper, Why? As I have myself over the years reflecting on this exact thing. At the very least, I hope you enjoyed the follies of my first crush; I hope yours was not nearly as embarrassing an experience as mine was.
- Grammarless1
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