My first love, which is the prettiest and most catchy phrases across all races and all cultures. It is pretty coming to think of all the first kiss, first date, first snuggle, the first personalized happy after. It is really takes a toll on every aspect when the narration begins and more often you want to dwell in the bulbous moments of the flower and forget about the blooming period leave alone the weathering and withering. But what if I told you first; love is more of a curse, that son of a fucking bitch that never leaves your senses to work in peace without a pop up here and there. What if I told you first love is more of an asshole that never seems to forget to rain tones of shit on every tiny chance of happiness and glitter moments. First love, is an agent of a mother fucker that never lets blessings to commune with you. Oh, where are my manners, my name is jael and this is my story of the pursuit of happiness.
Let’s sail, shall we?
I met him on my way to the second class of the day on an abnormally boring Wednesday when the sun was holding nothing back from frying the surface OF THE earth and everything that dwells on it, and me well, I wasn’t spared. I met him when my mind was on vacation and my body was on go slow save a few snaps of the finger and movement of the lashes as extracurricular. I met him when I thought I needed to and he had no otherwise. He had the height of my secret lover and oval face with a square jaw and not to forget a very wide smile, I swear I could drown in it. That perfect dental arrangement fit perfectly to the smile that crowned a very sensuous and delicious body. I met him at a time of the day that no one else seemed to exist, and all of a sudden the world was between me and him and all the laws of nature seemed broken or nurtured by me,cause boy, gravity had nothing on me.
At that very moment my whole body was starting to corporate and I had this thing going in my system that needed my attention. Let me tell you about the bad thing of being a creative writer, you see when such perfection of god’s creation presents itself in such an embodiment especially on this flamboyantly hot afternoon, the first thought is to feed your eyes, tell you what I was feeding my brain. I could produce countless articles with a single sweep of the eyes across the arena and this creature was making me drown in my creation.
At that very moment I didn’t know his name but I was about to find out how he liked his coffee in the morning. I didn’t know if he preferred fame or framed pictures but his body was already in my frame. That ladies and gentlemen is how I missed my criminology class.
I’ve always been a go for it kind of girl even when the society depicts otherwise setting standards that will otherwise render females of my caliber rebellious in a way and out of character. I call it a form of freedom of expression. See, I have a belief that if you really need something, then you should do whatever it take to pay for the price. You shouldn’t apologize for carrying your own spear, being your own warrior.
I met him again on my way to the library the following day having had enough of sun basking in the solar. He smiled from a few blocks away. I am a generous lass, having laid down the foundation of the good news, I let him preach the gospel. From the movement of the words on his tongue, I could tell the boy had the taste for the wine. And then…
I smiled back as an agreement. I would have punched his guts out had he gotten it wrong. No, I’m kidding, I’d probably just correct him and walk down the path that I will erase to ensure he doesn’t find it back. Yeah I know, I am an emotional badass lass.
So we walk to the entry point. Cues, chits, chats, pointers here and there and he takes a left. Mother of hades! Fuck me, who doesn’t love a man in uniform, dear man of medicine. I smile, a wet smile as I jump into my arts wagon, third floor. My writing fanatics, brace yourself because it’s going to be a bumpy ride. Oh, at this point you deserve to know his name. Nathan is his name.
I have bumped into him several times now to earn us both a lunch together the following week. Followed by a next and then a next and then a regular and before I know it, I am bailing on classes and my other friends to be with this god of the hearts and an artist of the body. See, I was love sick and I needed a doctor, my man of medicine. My water is warming up and I’m freaking excited. My god looks at me as if I am a floating goddess of beauty and sexual rapture, I don’t shy away, I chin up and embrace the crown.
And then it hits me, what the hell. That’s the thing about first love, you want everything and nothing, you crave independence and possession, you desire the fierceness of fire yet you are sired to the chill of the ice. But nonetheless, you are hooked and there is no turning back. There is a fire inside of you hot and fierce like the volcanic eruptions and spreading so quickly like the wild fires but all you can show the world under the sky is a smile worth a few cents.
I had my first love kiss at the bus stop, that’s when the gates of paradise were opened. He asked me to be his girl at the end of semester party and I could swear there were fireworks right in that moment. I could swear that I was wearing glass slippers. My Nathan was perfectly perfect, countless times I have had to remind him that he was enough despite his urge to try and be more. Life was perfect, until the birth of new moon.
The lunch dates were frequent and became a wild norm. The movie nights became a habit. The scent of his skin found an acceptable home in my sheets. Our arms became a domicile for each other. We became accustomed to each other like we were enchanted. Our hearts were scarred with each other’s names and our lips sang the same song. It was a small cocoon full of good things, but then good things don’t last. Good things have an end, good things disappear suddenly, and good things have legs, good things end when you wake up. Good things have a tendency of taking onto their heels when you least expect it. The dawn was quickly approaching before it was even darkest.
Nathan failed to show up for our 11th month anniversary. May be we grew apart, may be it was part of the first love thing, and may be the flower was finally withering, may be it was about time. Or maybe I got there too early for once. I hate it when the bell rings, okay most of the times. It always means the end of something, the beginning of something less familiar. It mean goodbyes, I hate goodbyes, I’m better at hellos.
The thought of starting all over again is discouraging. The norm is comfortable like the perfect fit of the heel, it is doable, and it is like a ritual. It’s predictable.
He didn’t pick my call that evening. I sat into the wee hours of the night on my suddenly ocean-like bed thoughts spread all over it, scattered into things, tiny droplets of nothingness. I held my heart clenched tightly in my fist as the nails dug deeply into the sole of my palms. I tucked gently with hostility the sting of my tears under my lashes as i cornered my hiccups deep in my throat and screams in the echoes of my voice. I hid my anger, disappointments and breakages deep in my morphology and far from semantics of my everyday language.
And when it happened, all heaven and hell broke loose.
p.s its been super ling since i posted, but thank you for the continued support.