Jeff

The first time I noticed you, we shared a high school honors English class. You sat across the room from me. I had a perfect view. Your eyes quivered and darted back and forth, never ending. It was a medical condition no one had been able to figure out. Something about you fascinated me.

Later, we shared a US History class. I sat in front of you and I would come into class reeking of cigarette smoke. You labeled me a "stupid pothead." You were the classic nerd. You were president of the chess club. You played Dungeons and Dragons. You were near-genius. I bet you that I'd score a better grade on the final and when I beat you by a few points, our fate was sealed.

We were the odd couple, and I don't know quite how it worked (when it was actually working). Like most of the boys I dated in high school, I was terrible to you. I cheated on you and used you and manipulated you and broke up with you.

I don't remember the timeline of our relationship anymore. All I have are fuzzy memories.

I remember you getting on top of me in your bedroom and choking me. I remember kicking you off of me and running out of your house, barefoot.

I remember you handing me a note in a darkened movie theater. The note said something like, "I am breaking up with you. Don't call me, don't email me. We are finished."

I remember discovering you online late at night, sneaking out of the house and into my parent's minivan to drive to meet you.

In my memory, our love was pure madness. A mentally unstable, wild, passionate teenage love that one can experience only through the deliriousness of youth.

I remember waking up on Valentine's day with my car full of balloons and a needle taped to the steering wheel. Inside of each balloon held a reason why you loved me.

I remember sitting in my parent's living room as you held my hands and casually told me that I was dead, and that if you stayed with me, your own death was inevitable.

I remember you calling me in the middle of the night to tell me that you were seeing someone else.

I remember walking out of the abortion clinic and seeing you in the waiting room, your head in your hands and tears in your eyes.

I had invasive dreams about you for years and years after we lost contact and I thought I would never truly get over you.

I believe now that time truly does heal all wounds. I very rarely think of you. No feelings remain.

I know now, when my blurred memories reveal the past, that I was bad to you and you were bad to me. I was not your victim. We were only just two troubled teenagers hungry for love, for something bigger than ourselves.

I have forgiven myself and I have forgiven you. And life marches on.

Rae