When I was 12 years old, I met the absolute love of my life. And no, it wasn’t some random person or a pair of shoes or whatever albums were popular then. It was a little boy in another one of the sixth grade classes, he was sweet, sincere, quiet, and was adorably chubby. The year I met him, his mom died and some fellow supportive classmates and I went to the viewing.
We were all siting around a coffee table, boys and girls on opposite sides (ya know, cooties and all). I remember him sitting in this big armchair surrounded by some friends and family; he looked happy and it absolutely broke my heart. I didn’t understand how such a sad thing could have happened to such a nice kid. I decided that day, in my little 12-year-old mind, that I would do everything in my power to make him happy because everyone deserves that.
Middle school came and went, with minimal friendship between us. Then, when we started high school, we had our first classes together. We had PE and a speech class together. He had grown out of his chubbiness and transformed into a tall, handsome soccer player. I found reasons to text him about speech homework I knew we didn’t have, to talk to him in class where he would tell me ridiculous stories about cooking endeavors, and I always asked if we had PE that day. One day during PE we had to run the mile. I swam all of high school, so running is not my favorite. That, mixed with some stubbornness, lead to me walking my entire mile shamelessly. Mr. Hot-Shot-Soccer-Player finished his in seven some odd minutes. After finishing, he came up next to me and walked the remainder of my mile with me. We caught up and laughed and it was wonderful.
That year we saw My Chemical Romance together and I swear, like I’m thoroughly convinced, there is a universal law that if you go see your favorite band with a cute boy, you’re bound to fall in love. After coming home, we talked until the early morning. It was the first time I realized I could listen to him talk for hours and the conversation would never be stale.
Sophomore year of high school came and, as my mom so lovingly puts, we were “sniffing” each other. Between classes one day, I felt someone run up to me and nervously ask me to homecoming. Me, being the awkward sophomore I was, hurriedly said yes and sped walked/ sprinted to class before he could see the massive smile that was 50 shades of red self-conscious. Looking back, the whole ordeal was so painfully awkward and the pictures are truly laughable due to how derpy we look. Despite the precious awkwardness, we started dating shortly thereafter.
Similarly to many high school couples, we dated on and off through the remaining years. We were best friends, completely inseparable; it was weird to see one of us without the other. We supported each other fully through the good times and bad. The best part of it all was how comfortable we were and how solid we were as a team, or as he fondly calls us, a “blob.” Between many baking adventures, ice cream dates, grabbing burgers downtown, or Netflix and chilling (the most accurate way to describe our relationship!), we were always laughing.
However, the summer before college came, there were some arguments and not as many laughs. I was moving halfway across the country and he was only moving 45 minutes north. We said our teary goodbyes the morning I flew out and eagerly awaited a reunion. This reunion never came though. Well not when it was supposed to at least. Through a series of unfortunate events, we broke up. I was devastated. I had not only lost my boyfriend, but my best friend, the one person who understood every weird thought and funny mannerism of mine. I shut it out and didn’t talk about it. I called monthly and always received a voicemail. 2014 finished. Freshman year ended. Still no call back.
Then, one Friday night of sophomore year, shortly before Thanksgiving, I was enjoying a nice cocktail (sorry, Mom) and watching Friends. I had surpassed buzzed and entered ballsy as hell drunk when “The One Where Ross and Rachel Take a Break” came on. Around 11 PM I called him again, knowing he wasn’t going to answer. As the phone rang, I swore him out and then I heard “hello?” and I cried. I yelled a lot too. It had been over a year without hearing his voice and I was immediately overwhelmed by a million emotions. Unfortunately, by New Years, I had become paranoid he would leave again and picked a stupid fight over a Snapchat and he was thus pushed out of my life again.
Three months later though, I was on spring break in place where I kept many memories of him and it hit me how unbelievably dumb I had been. Around 2 AM, I messaged him on Facebook, and over the next few days we slipped right back to where we had been. He came to visit two weeks later and 12 year old me has never been happier and more proud.
My point in sharing this crazy journey is that, yes, it might not be the right time, but if you truly love someone, never ever settle for something that isn’t what you fell in love with. You deserve to be loved by someone who knows when your period is or when you’re having a bad day and eats a gallon of ice cream with you. You deserve someone who eats burritos with you before swim meets, to ensure you have energy. You deserve someone who will drive across town just to bring you tea when you’re sick. You deserve to be loved and cherished and most importantly, reminded every day. I implore you to never give up on what makes you happiest because you deserve the utmost happiness.
