Self Help

Teenage Dream

So I could spend a lot more time telling stories about my childhood, about being bullied at school for being to happy - seriously, yes, that's a thing- or how hard it is to be a "highly sensitive person" growing up in a terribly insensitive world. Or, I could just skip all that crap and get straight to the good stuff. And by that I mean the horrible "I-wish-I-could-look-away-but-I-can't-trainwreck" that was my foray into dating. Ah, sweet adolescence.

First, let me tell you that I was completely and totally boy-crazy when I entered highschool, having always been unpopular with boys in elementary school and also hopelessly melodramatic about dating. In fact, one can even chart my growth from a regular little kid (approximate kindgergarten age) to full-blown crazy person (age 8) by reading the diary I kept faithfully during my formative years. It had a tiny little lock with keys for hiding, and scented pages, no joke. 

Yes, my obsession with romance began very early, and by second grade I was crying myself to sleep after being rejected by the "love of my life" (more on that later).  I'm not sure how I'd developed such insane notions about love, but by highschool I had a firm belief that being in love was just about the only reason for being alive.  I approached ninth grade with all the man-finding gusto and determination of a 1950s debutante. I would find a boyfriend, at all costs.

It was actually much easier to accomplish this goal than I had imagined. I didn't realize that the first week of highschool is a feeding frenzy for boys who'd been itching to get their hands under a girl's top after hitting puberty over the summer. What I hadn't anticipated was that the true challenge would be maintaining a relationship. Now that was and will be a different story. I spent most of ninth grade flitting from boy to boy like a hummingbird in a botanical garden. Stopping only for a week or two, never quite getting any relationship off the ground or progressing much further from letting hands nervously graze fingertips in the dark of the movie theatre.

This challenge of finding a relationship that would stick was only exacerbated by the fact that I'd convinced myself that I was 100% totally and completely in love with the most asexual, super Christian, virginal boy in the ninth grade. Matt Cameron. Really, in hindsight its quite possible that the biggest obstacle in convincing Matt to be my boyfriend, was the fact that in all likelihood he hadn't hit puberty yet. He was small, lanky and  painfully shy. He had deep brown eyes, jock-flipped gelled hair, and square-rim glasses.

I was sure he was The One.

And because I was so sure of this, I pursued with the enthusiasm of a celebrity stalker. I would force him into awkward conversations, causing him to blush and find any excuse to get away from me, sit beside him in class, and because everyone hugged everyone in ninth grade ALL THE TIME, make sure to pack in as much physical contact as possible. He should have been flattered, but unfortunately, he was terrified instead.

Incase you think that I am exaggerating the height of my fervor for Matt, let me take a moment to illustrate with a quick anecdote. During this time in ninth grade my best friend Isla dared to question my infatuation with Matt, insinuating that he might not be all that I was building him up to be, to which I exclaimed "Matt Cameron is an ANGEL". And it was completely genuine. And I was yelling in the middle of the hallway.

Very suprisingly, and much to my delight, by October he seemed to have warmed to me slightly, which was all the encouragement I needed to continue  on in my quest. Eventually I'd even got him willingly sit with me in classes, and even better, actually hold my hand covertly under the cafeteria table.  I was in heaven. By the time Halloween came, he was a part of my group of friends and we were happily in mutual like. We attended a Halloween party, innocent enough to still be thrilled by a boy/girl PCP (pop, chips, parents) party.

As we sat squished onto a loveseat in the darkness of a friend's unfinished basement, neither of us watching the scary movie playing on the VHS player, we finally relaxed. He let down his guard and we cuddled in to each other, hearts beating quickly and hands clamy. Eventually I came to rest with my head on a pillow in his lap, his fingers shakily running through my hair. We just stared at each other, his eyes reflecting the light of the slasher movie we couldn't even hear. We were completely enthralled with one another. As if at the same time, we moved towards eachother and Matt lay the gentlest, most timid kiss on my lips. It wasn't my first kiss but it might as well have been. It was innocent and sweet and everything you dream a kiss should be.

That was the first and last kiss Matt and I would ever share.