Poor Romeo and Juliet, the star-crossed lovers, victims of the dangers of youth and passion. Upon my first reading in middle school, all I could do was judge them: these kids barely knew each other and now all of the sudden they’re getting married and killing themselves, quite dramatic. Upon reading it again in my freshman year, I appreciated the beautiful, lyrical exchanges between the lovebirds but still labeled the situation as a hot mess of intense, glorified puppy love.
Present day in my senior year and my first relationship, I’m scared to read it.
Now, my relationship won’t cause any deaths (hopefully) nor be consummated within the next few days, but as a young person in love, I can’t help but root for the two suckers.
A sucker myself, it’s both amazing and awful to be in love at a young age - a terrible age filled with many decisions and confusions and travels. If there was one thing I’d change about my relationship, it would be the timing. One of the best things in my life has come at possibly the worst time. In fact, on a particular morning about midway through my junior year, I had a very calming feeling wash over me with the acceptance that I just wasn’t going to have a boyfriend in high school; there was just no time.
And that’s when God looked down at my tiny little body and said, “lol.”
For in just a couple hours my future boyfriend, Derian, sent me a message.
We have been together for a year now, but in about half a year I will be leaving to go to some currently unknown education institute very far away.
As we both go to our selected universities, our relationship will definitely encounter new, difficult boundaries that we have agreed to overcome together, or at least we’ll try. Communication issues, time differences, opposite schedules, and other things could terminate our relationship, but at least they’re not the worst-case-scenario: it’s just not meant to be.
How absolutely terrifying is it that you can be so in love with someone one second then 10 years later you run into them in the frozen food aisle and say, “Hi! I haven’t seen you in forever! How have you been? This is my husband.” Right now it’s impossible for me to imagine being with someone else. I know that whoever my future husband is, he will be super awesome and interesting; I might even meet him at my future. I’ve been told about how many awesome and interesting people I will meet while studying at a university, and I like awesome and interesting people just fine, but for now I can’t see myself with anyone more amazing or interesting than who I am with right now.
I do look forward to meeting amazing new people while I’m away, but I also sincerely hope that Derian will remain the most amazing of them all, even a thousand miles away. After feeling this wonderful thing called love, I am fearful of not feeling it or even feeling it with someone else. You could tell me right now that I would be even more in love with someone else, and I would have a relationship 1000% better than the one I am currently in, but I wouldn’t believe you; I would just drive back over to Derian’s house, sit in my place on the couch, and watch New Girl while basking in the smell of Mexican food.
This little paradise is one I hope I return to throughout my time away, but even my strong optimism is bringing an umbrella. For even if we stay together throughout college, we will not be together in the same way that we are now. And each day brings a new burden of “last”s for us: last New Years, Last Valentines Day, Last Tuesday, March 21st running errands, Last Time.
And for some reason, the burden of our Last Super bowl (physically) together placed a particular weight upon me. We had made plans to come to my house, watch the game, and just enjoy the prime time of American culture.
It was on that Sunday morning, about an hour and a half before I had planned to pick him up, that I got a call from my work. Apparently, I was scheduled, and I was 20 minutes late. I looked back at my schedule sure it was a mistake, but my first time being late could only be credited to my attention on my “last” and the lack thereof on my reality.
My boss was nice enough to move my shift up an hour, so I rushed into the shower. As I scrambled with shampoo, I cried like a child. I cried because I was stupid; I cried because if I would have went to my original shift, I would have still gotten to see most of the game; I cried because now I wouldn’t get to see the game; I cried because it wasn’t about the game at all.
And I cried while trying to explain all this to Derian. His voice came to me in rhythmic, soft waves, but I was in the middle of a flash flood. I quickly said goodbye and spent the short ride to work trying to calm myself down.
A few hours later while I was hiding from customers, fixing a table, I looked up and saw my knight in washed out jeans approaching me down the aisle of the men’s’ department. This phone-less, car-less boy walked to the bus stop near his house, missed the bus, walked to the nearest one two miles away, hopped on the unsanitary contraption, traveled the hour plus ride to my work which he had never been to and only relatively knew where it was, meandered through my department store, and found me angrily fixing a table of Nike shirts.
For a broke, high school relationship, I can’t think of anything more romantic.
My last hour of my shift was spent smiling and catching glances and thinking in awe of how I was so blessed. Then we went to my house and watched the last half of our Last Super bowl.
After that day, I haven’t been in hysterics about my relationship or the future of it. I still wonder how everything is going to be, but it doesn’t have power over me. Derian and I could break up, and I’ll be sad for a time. Or we could stay together, and I’ll be sad because we’re far apart. But whatever happens, I don’t have to obsess over our “last”s because I know I am fortunate to have “last”’s and to have “first”’s and to spend time, no matter how long, with this incredible human being in this wonderful young love.
