The Beginning

By the time I was twelve years old, I was already thoroughly hooked on boys. In fact, I’m pretty sure I had started earlier than any of my contemporaries, at seven years old. Brian wasn’t my first love, but he was first infatuation. We would sit next to each other in the music circle, holding hands, him bringing up the end of the semi-circle of boys, me bringing up the end of the girls. Over the next five years I had several boyfriends and more than a few crushes, experienced my first kiss and suffered through my first rejection. So when Scott entered my universe, I was an old hand at the game that pre-teen boys and girls played.

It started at a junior high school dance. Wild Video Dance Party, they called it, and it was the talk of the halls for weeks before the event. My best friend and I agonized over preparations and plans – what we would wear, how we would do our hair, whose house we would sleep at that night, whose parents would drive. A lot of couples had arrangements to meet at the dance; in a rare moment when we were both single, Lauren and I were going stag.

On the Friday night of the dance, Lauren’s mother – chosen as the lesser of the embarrassing parents – dropped us off at the junior high and left us in a state of staggering giddiness. Our classmates were pouring through the front doors, mingling in the lobby, hovering at the entrance to the gym. Music thrummed from giant speakers set up in the corners, and a huge screen took up the back wall of the gym, alternating between colorful light shows and modern day videos straight from MTV. Completely equipped with balloons, streamers, confetti and a table holding snacks and a giant punch bowl, our junior high gymnasium had been transformed into the perfect cliché of a school dance.

Lauren and I joined the ranks of the minglers and hoverers, making conversation and trying to appear cool and aloof. It was at that point that I began to notice Scott.He didn’t necessarily stand out in a crowd, but he didn’t blend in either.

He was taller than most of the other boys, and towered over all of the girls. Ridiculously skinny with dark hair that swung just below his ears, baggy jeans and a baseball cap pulled low over his brow, at that moment I had no idea that his particular physicality would eventually become my type.

And so the dance began. Not the awkward swaying that took place in the dark gymnasium, but the tango that Scott and I would engage in over the course of the next three hours.

The rest of what I remember about that night comes in bright flashes, brief snippets and fleeting images. I can see Scott and I weaving between the masses, stealing glances at one another, talking to our friends, each pretending not to notice the other. I vaguely remember a hesitant approach, a stilted conversation. I know I grabbed his hat right off his head and ran with it, knowing he would chase me, desperate to feel his arms around me. Lauren, and whoever Scott was with, because that part escapes me, urging us on, feeding the fire and instigating innocent flirtation.

I remember his smile from that night. So much of what I remember about Scott involves his smile, and his laugh. Both were charming, infectious and oh so appealing.

All of this flickers by me in fragmented recollections, and then suddenly my memory enters slow motion. Scott and I are dancing. The gym is dark, and I can hear sneakers clumsily squeaking across the floor. More Than Words by Extreme is playing soft and sweet in the background. Scott’s arms are awkward around me, and I’m not quite sure what to do with my own hands, where to look, if I should say anything. He smells like sweat and nerves and teenage boy. My mouth is dry and my heart is racing. I’m terrified of stepping on his feet, tripping over my own, making a fool of myself. Neither of us says a word for the duration of the song, but somewhere toward the end Scott pulls me, almost imperceptibly, closer, and I rest my head on his chest. I can hear his heart beating almost as fast as my own, and take comfort in the fact that he’s just as anxious as I am.

When the song ends, so does my memory. I can’t recall what we did next - if we danced again, or if that truly signified the end of the night, since the next thing I remember is leaving.

I’m reluctantly walking toward the sidewalk with Lauren while she looks out for her mom. Scott is pacing the sidewalk a few yards down. A minivan pulls to the curb, and he waves, his eyes darting to me. He walks to the van, leans in the window, and then turns back in my direction. He asks to talk to me for a second. We return to the lobby, turn a corner down a deserted hallway. He asks me if I’ll be his girlfriend, and when I nod, he leans down to give me one of the sweetest kisses I’ll ever experience, ending it by taking off his hat and placing it on my head.

We walk back to the parking lot, and he disappears into the minivan. Lauren and I are giddy with my experience, because at age twelve, what happens to you also happens to your best friend. I knew we would stay up all night, reliving every moment of my night with Scott. But part of the magic had gone as soon as he had.

And so it began.