First Time Last Time

If it hadn't been for his name tag, I would have walked right passed him and not had a clue who he was; he had changed that much. His face bore the tell tale signs of too much drinking and the strongly compact body I remembered had given way to the paunch that many men end up with. I realize I sound like a bitch saying this. He had to be close to 65 and who was I to judge. The last time I saw him I was 30 pounds less, 30 years younger and too innocent for my own good. My long dark curls was now a grey pixie cut and I tended to avoid mirrors religiously. Who was I to judge?

It was called Home Economics back then. Cooking and sewing. He was the only boy in the class and I hardly noticed him at first. And when I did, it was his hair and nose that registered because they were unusual: golden flax and miniature duck's bill respectively.

We were split into 4 groups when we cooked, but would eat the fruits of our labours communally at one big table. I never ate what we made; never. I was deep into being thin mode. I would only nurse a tea. I loved the cooking part but the eating, especially with other girls made me immensely uneasy. The truth was I had no friends, hated school and home was not far behind. I dreamed of escape when I should have been conjugating French verbs or memorizing a Shakespearian sonnett. Boys, other than my younger brothers, were a totally unknown quantity to me. Until one afternoon in May when I felt a hand on my shoulder, turned around and found myself face to face with him: Peter.

"Hi", he said. "You're Leslie, right?" "Yes, c'est moi", I uttered, trying to sound less shy than I truly felt. "So here's the thing", he continued "I wondered if we could go out sometime....like for a walk or something". "Sure", I said far too quickly. "Yes, I'd like that". And in my head I am thinking: I'm going on my first date. Holy shit!

It should have been a simple thing, but I knew the minute I told my parents and they asked if he was Jewish, I was screwed. My father lectured me for 2 hours and then relented. "One date", he yelled into my face. "He comes to the house and you walk in the neighbourhood...got it? "Fine", I replied. In my head, I was thinking, "I really and truly hate you right now.

Saturday came and we had our walk. Peter somehow sensed that my parents had put me through the wringer. Maybe my father's terse hello was the tip off, or a trace of leftover sadness on my face from the confrontation the day before. I can't recall what we talked about, but I remember the feeling. I felt safe and treated kindly. When we came upon a dead raccoon, he found a piece of newspaper to ensure it would not get mangled by a car. This touched me and also made me sad. "You re like me", I thought. "Too sensitive". When we got back to my house, he kissed me (my first) and I heard him say under his breath: shooting stars.

I don't have to tell you that we started seeing each other, skipping classes to just do stupid stuff like take the train downtown to browse in stores and drink coffee. I found out that he was a few years older than me and had quit school only to return in the hopes of graduating. He lived with his great aunt and when she napped in the late afternoon, we made out in his room. Sometimes I could barely recognize myself. Peter said he loved me. I wasn't sure I knew what love felt like, but whatever we had together felt pretty fantastic. He never pressured me about sex. He wanted to get married.

For 6 months, we were inseparable. Girls who never talked to me now found me worthy of friendship. Suddenly I was normal rather than a freak. It was too good. I knew it had to end.

The end came when my truancy got back to my parents and through tears and apologies, I confessed about Peter. My father was livid and told me it was done. I begged to see Peter one last time and in the end my father gave me that much. School would be done in a month. They were sending me to family in Israel for the summer.

We met at a shopping mall and through the din of people buying shoes and jeans, I told him. I had to break up with him. I tried to explain, but his tears rendered me silent. I tried to hug him and he turned away. I tried to hold his hand and he said, "don't".

And now we were at our high school reunion. I walked over to him and said, "you probably don't remember me but..." "Hi Leslie....wow, I kinda hoped you'd be here." "Really?" I stammered, feeling very young again. "Yes, why would you think otherwise?".

"At the risk of sounding a bit crazy, I never forgot you and I always regretted what happened...that's it. That's what I needed to say". "Also, thank you." "For what", he asked. "For being you, I guess. For getting to know me." "It was my pleasure", he grinned. "Truly". "Likewise", I replied.

His wife sauntered over. I introduced myself as a former classmate. She had no idea who I was. Neither of my ex's had ever known about Peter. We had been each other's secret. I stood there hoping he had thought of me even half as much as I'd thought of him over the years.

There was so much I wanted to say and so much I wanted to know, but it wasn't going to happen and perhaps it was for the best.

As I walked toward the door, I looked back in his direction. I smiled; he winked and did a little bow. "I'll never forget you", I thought to myself. "Enough", I said out loud to myself.

And just like that, I went out into the warm night.