|Most of us fell in love with someone that never knew we existed. Someone we watched from afar, daydreaming and making plans based on what we thought of that person. The drama and pain of it, the pleasure and hope of it, the humiliation of it, these are all common places.
Inspired by Cristian’s story, I thought of writing mine, the story that started in 96. Of the first such love in my life. I was in the seventh grade, secondary school, I was 13 going on 14 and I was one of the kids running on the hallways of the I.L. Caragiale High-School (later changed to National College, although it was still a high-school mainly). It was a new custom among high-schools then to also have about 2 secondary school classes (intensive English and intensive French in our case), to form them in the Caragiale way. Admission was based on taking an exam in English, Maths and Romanian Literature and Grammer (it was the only time I was first on an admission results list).
So, I was facing the wonders of the high-school world, not from within and not quite from the outside, with the elitist feeling you get after being good enough to be accepted. We knew nothing of love and relationships, but we knew how to make fun of people kissing from our classroom's open windows. A pair doing so outside, during the break. Nothing weird, just that it was non-stop and we started to make fun. “Let her breathe” and “She already washed her teeth for the day, leave it be” were commonly used. I was on top of the game, screaming my lungs out. Then the guy turned around to say something not that nice to us. And then it was all over for me, I could say nothing…
He looked perfect. Tall, dark, long hair, like Ocean Summers of Trade Winds, if anyone saw that soapy short series. Of course, I saw the movie after falling in love, so it was actually the actor playing Ocean Summers who looked like him…
My habits changed: breaks meant chasing him around the school yard or on the hallways. Before that, I used to read during breaks, but afterward, going out (on sunny, snowy, rainy days, whatever…) in the yard just to see him was much better.
I even found out his name. By mistake. As someone called him and he said “yeah, what do you want?”. It was Edy. From Eduard, of course (yes, Romanian form of Edward). No name sounded better to me. I also found out what class he was in (followed him again), 12A, informatics.
My imagination and the stories and novels I wrote at the time were all going in circles around him. I was not in any kind of pain right then, I was just enjoying each moment when I could talk about him. Because of course I wasn’t the only girl in my class in love with an older student. We could all talk of our feelings freely.
On of them befriended his girlfriend and eventually met Edy (officially). She had nothing better to do then tell him I was in love with him. His reply was something that still brings thoughts of revenge to my mind. I was so upset! He was not supposed to know! Especially when it came to finding out like that! My dreams and hopes and stories were revealed, when I was trying so hard to keep them in a circle of secrecy, among a few going through similar experiences. I felt ultimately humiliated and deprived of what was mine and mine alone.
Anyway, the great adventure of happily watching and chasing him from afar could not last for ever. And the pain did come. Not because he had a girlfriend, she was really pretty and nice anyway. Not because he found out, as he forgot all about it almost instantly. Not because he was considered to be a ladies man and cheated on his girlfriend either. That was reality and had no connection with my image of him. The problem was summer came. And 12th grade also means the last year of high-school. You cannot imagine the amount of crying you could hear in our classroom in the last two weeks of school!
I did my crying at home mostly, but still, I was always upset.
I saw him one more that summer, when I dragged my mom after me to see where he was going. She said nothing, she just got me a book I really wanted. I do love my mom for being so great with such a crazy daughter. The long summer without him (the sight of him actually) was not difficult. But when school started and I had to go back there and walk on the same hallways and not see him, that was the real tragedy of it all.
About 4 years later, I saw him again. Changed, but still gorgeous. He walked by me and it took a while for me to gather my thoughts and react somehow. I turned around, dragging my friend Diana with me, wanting to chase him again on the streets, wherever. Then I stopped and thought about it for a while, asking my self why would I give in to old impulses. So I just carried on with what I was supposed to be doing. It did not matter anymore, it was all gone...
Labels: Alina, Personal, Stories of the Past