This story isn't about the first weirdest thing that has ever happened to me.
This story is about the second.
The first time Daniel Taylor and I ever kissed, I wanted to take back my lips. I wasn't a fan of lip-to-lip anything. Because homegirl doesn't even like to share soda pop. It was germy. And tongue-y (is that a thing?). And I wanted to take it all back. Instead, I proceeded without caution and dove, head first, into the biggest heart break I've experienced thus far in my life.
It wasn't always heart break, though.
Usually, it was gerber daisies and making out in the movie theater. You know how you always wonder if that's possible? I am living proof that it is. I can't say I'm proud of it, but sometimes I think about how we did that and I am impressed with myself. Because, how? Okay, I'm a little proud.
He got me with everything he did.
But, the shame of it all is that it's stuff I can't quite recall anymore. I can't put my finger on the good things. There was a lot of door opening when I went to get into his car. I think there was hand holding. Actually, no, I remember that. There was a lot of it. There was ice cream, too. And study sessions. And one time, in the parking lot after a dance where were dressed like Wendy and Peter Pan, he tripped, scuffing his knees up really bad. There was an obscene amount of blood, like way too much for me to handle, but I brought him back to my house and nursed his knees, anyway. I soaked them in hydrogen peroxide, wrapped them in bandages, and kissed them each twice. When I looked up at him, his eyes were wide on me like he'd never been so well taken care of and I made a mental note of that look. It's one I save away for the days I don't feel beautiful and I remember that in my life, I've been looked at like I was someone's safety, like I mattered to someone. I told him I loved him that night, and he said it, too.
Fine, I can recall all of it.
And oh, I wanted the world for him.
A week later, his parents made us break up.
I was the kind of sad a person shouldn't ever be and he was, too. The kind of sad that flared on both ends, triggered by an outside party. Real Capulet/Montague stuff. When he told me, I cried in the hallway at school. I cried in his arms and knew they could do nothing to protect me from the next few months of pain. He said goodbye and I did, too. And then, two months later, he had another girlfriend. And, understatement: ouch.
I toilet papered her house a few times. And then, I probably called her mean names (I FOR SURE called her mean names). And then, I was "The Other Woman" for a summer and it turns out, you feel worse about yourself when your ex-boyfriend is cheating on his girlfriend with you. It turns out that that's never good for anyone. So after that, we stopped making out at parks, he stopped visiting me at work, and then, God punished me and I got Mononucleosis. I watched Grey's Anatomy every single day and there was the episode that's like "Pick me, choose me, LOVE ME" and I cried a lot.
And then, I'm not trying to be dramatic, but we never spoke again.
Until July 27, 2013 where I stepped out of the car in his driveway and heard him whisper, "Wow."
Did I hook you again?