It's Better to Have Loved and Lost

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

-Alfred Tennyson

This is a story about when I was sixteen. You're not meant to like it or hate it, it's just so I can tell you about what happened to me in just three years of my teenage life. It's about a man I knew, a man I loved. And it begins sophomore year when I was fresh off summer vacation and looking for a boyfriend.

I'd always wanted a boyfriend, but I could never seem to find a guy who liked me. There was a girl once who did, but that's a different story for another day. I was ready for a new experience in high school, one I would remember for a very long time. The first time I walked into art class, I had no idea I'd gotten it.

A boy sat down next to me at my table. He was cute and tall, things I liked in a guy. His name was Rick. You don't need to know his last name. He had just moved here from New York and didn't like the hot weather here in the south. I was eager for a new friendship so I offered to maybe show him around a bit. He turned me down, saying he had it covered. I felt dejected. In the back of my mind I had been hoping for a relationship with him, just like I had with another other semi-attractive boy I'd met. I was so selfish back then.

We talked some during the classes we had together, but I wouldn't call it anything big. It was just small talk. He slowly started to drift away from me as he got adjusted to his new surroundings. Before I knew it, he stopped talking to me completely as his new friends caught his attention. The 5 degrees of separation for teenagers, I guess. The teachers in all of my classes seemed to be conspiring with each other because, all on the same day, they reassigned seats. I wasn't able to talk to Rick anymore.

I would always watch him in art class, though. I wasn't a stalker, so don't start thinking I'm a creep. I liked his artwork. It was different and beautiful, like an ice skater dancing on bare feet. I envied his ability instead of cherished it. Once again, so selfish.

My sixteenth birthday came and went as did the new semester of school. I wasn't surprised to find that we had a class together again. This time, I was in luck. The teacher assigned semester long partners and, what do you know, me and Rick were put together. We reconnected in that way when you say 'Oh, I haven't talked to you in a while' and then all of a sudden you're friends.

Our friendship didn't last very long. He asked me out on a date a few weeks later. There had been a tension building between us that being only friends couldn't cure. For our date, I went to his house and we watched a movie. He didn't pull any cheap moves or 'try to get into my pants'. I was fully respected and I loved it. A few dates later, we were at school walking to class together when he casually slipped his hand into mine and didn't remove it the whole commute to class. He was the sweetest thing.

One night, we were talking on the phone into the wee hours of the morning. We started talking about our fears and wishes. I told him that I always hid my Furby's at night because I was afraid they'd kill me in my sleep. He told me he wished to get married someday because his parents seemed to be so happy together and he wanted to experience it. It was an odd thing for a guy to wish for, but Rick wasn't normal; everything he did made me like him even more.

At our month-iversary (I was a teenage girl; I counted those things) he took me to a very nice resturaunt that I knew was well out of his monthly allowance range. He had it covered, though. When Rick dropped me off at my house at the end of the night, he took my hand, looked deep into my eyes and told me he really liked me. I was awestruck at how different he was than the other boys at school. On my doorstep, I told him I really liked him, too. He gave me my first real kiss, a sweet, chaste one on the lips. I felt like I was living a fairy tale.