I remember the first time I ever saw Chase. It was in a picture. His head was turned sharply to the right as if to avoid the camera lens. He was beautiful with his dark brown hair and green eyes. My heart raced just by looking at him. We met through a mutual friend and were immediately drawn to each other. And so our story begins...
I was fourteen and he was fifteen. We both lived in Las Vegas at the time, but went to separate high schools across town from each other. And when I say "across town", I mean across an enormous ocean of concrete, buildings, and houses. Since neither one of us could drive, meeting face to face -- let alone dating -- proved to be a problem. We kept a steady friendship over the phone though and quickly found ourselves to be in the "good friends" category. I was devastated when I found out that I had to move back to Arizona, only a short eight months after my arrival in Nevada.
We had both decided that we wanted to try the long distance relationship thing, after he had seen a picture of me of course. You see, we never actually met face to face while I was in Vegas -- due to unmentionable reasons -- we had only talked over the phone. So when I sent him a picture of me -- yes, a real one -- I think it was love at first sight for him too. He used to call me his Sweet Girl, an endearment that I still cherish.
For two years I was in a state of pure bliss. I was on cloud nine. We were perfect for each other, regardless of the two hundred and fifty miles seperating us. But eventually those mere two hundred and fifty miles started to take a toll on our very fragile relationship, and I decided it would be best to call it quits. I cried of course, and he tried in vain to console me. It felt like the world that I had so carefully constructed for myself was coming to a tragic end. Everything that I had lived for and dedicated my entire self to for the past two years was falling apart, crumbling beneath my feet and there was nothing I could do about it. So I found solace, comfort, and even love in the arms of someone else. But alas, that too would shortly come to an end upon my return to the "city of sin".
I went back for a short visit with my family and went out for a night of fun with Chase. We went ice skating, and I fell in love with him all over agin. The flame I thought I had so masterfully extinguished eleven months prior to that night had suddenly flared to life again, with an even stronger passion, with a vengeance. I returned to Arizona even more heart broken and distraught than the first time. Not only were tears streaming from my eyes, but they were also spilling from my damaged heart.
At that point things started to go downhill with my current boyfriend, I immediately ran to the comforting and familiar arms of Chase, my first true love. We got engaged. I was 17, he was 18. Once again I was on cloud nine. The world that had so quickly crumbled and vanished magically reappeared again. I was in heaven and nothing could bring me down.
I had an elaborate plan to move to Las Vegas as soon as I graduated high school. But for reasons unknown to me now it fell through, and our lives together were postponed for a short while. He came here to Arizona to visit for a night that was far too short to quench the thirst we held for each other, and he gave me a temporary engagement ring. It was silver with his name engraved on it. Far too large for me to wear on any of my petite fingers, I wore it on a chain around my neck. Closer to my heart I told him. I never took that necklace off.
Once again the miles tore our relationship to pieces, along with my heart, my soul, my life. He refused to wait for me anymore; he had been patient enough and he couldn't handle the stress anymore. So we went our separate ways. I was mortified, devastated and enraged. How could he break my heart again? I didn't understand, I honestly thought we would be together forever, and I heart wrenchingly begged him to stay with me. He belonged with me and no one else (because there was someone else). I was his Sweet Girl and he was my Sweet Boy.
I curled up into the fetal position in my big empty bed and cried and cried and cried. I thought the tears would never end, but they did. I eventually fell asleep. And for days I wouldn't move from bed, staying in the fetal position I started out in. I couldn't fathom him touching, caressing, kissing, or whispering sweet endearments to anybody other than myself, while I felt like my life was coming to an end. And it temporarily had.
It's been said that time heals all wounds and I'm beginning to wonder it that's true. Slowly but surely I'm picking up the pieces and putting them back where they belong, and eventually my heart will be whole again. I don't think about him as much as I used to, I guess that's the first step. When I do think about him at those odd moments such as when I hear our song, it makes my heart hurt. I know that he will always be in my heart; that I cannot prevent.
*This was a true story, albeit a little lame, but that's how all first loves are. I kind of laugh when I read it now, so feel free to laugh at me too.
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