First Love
By Arty

If he had to sum her up in one word, the word would be
joyous.

What you have to understand about them is that they were
only ever "just good friends". She seemed to be happy with
that and for a while so was he. Years later he discovered
that the whole school assumed that they were lovers. She
must have known; being a teenage boy he was oblivious.
Looking back he could see that the rumours were painful to
her, or at least the fact that he didn't acknowledge them
was.

He didn't remember exactly when they first met; it was as if
the glare of the event blinded him to the detail. Now it
seemed to him that the fulcrum of their first meeting
balanced his schooldays. He was aware there was a time when
he didn't know her but most of it was a blur. Then sometime
in his 14th year he met her and his life changed forever.

Her beauty was secondary to her personality. Everyone who
met her liked her; talking to her left you glad that you
were alive. He couldn't get enough of that feeling, they
would talk for hours about anything and everything; the
subjects didn't matter all he ever wanted to do was to make
her laugh.

Each time she smiled at him his heart stopped; he couldn't
breathe; nothing else mattered. When she laughed, especially
at his behest, a supernova exploding nearby couldn't have
had more effect on him. Time apart from her had no meaning.
The currency of his existence was measured in the time spent
in her company. For years he hoarded the gold of the minutes
spent with her.

He couldn't say anything of this, uncertain of her feelings
toward him, he was paralysed by the fear of losing her
friendship. Food, water and air, these were optional as far
as he was concerned but her friendship was the thing that
gave his life meaning and colour. So he held his feelings
inside and resolutely proclaimed that they were "just good
friends".

Outside of school he engineered opportunities to be with
her. Learning that her family sometimes swam at a local
swimming pool on Sunday mornings, he cycled 12 miles to the
swimming pool every Sunday morning being first in the pool
most Sundays and staying until it was clear that she wasn't
swimming that Sunday. On those Sunday's that her family did
swim, not only did he have some stolen moments with her but
he also saw her in a swimsuit; joy and lust in equal
measure.

They exchanged postcards when on holiday. He gave her
compilations of their favourite music. The track lists were
enciphered declarations of his love for her. He wrote her
letters of friendship and their 'phone calls were legendary
in their length. And still he said nothing - the risk was
too great and became greater as he banked his investment of
the time in her company.

But with each passing month the fiction of "just good
friends" became the truth of their relationship and she met
someone else. A dagger through the heart would have hurt
less, but at least as friends he could still be near her.

Now he was trapped in his lie. And to bolster it, he hurt
someone who did not deserve it. He toyed with a girlfriend's
affection and subsumed his longing for his first love by
forcing the pace of their relationship. His girlfriend was
shaken by the intensity he demanded and needed to drown out
his unspoken desire. At his girlfriend's request they
separated for the long summer holiday to "give them some
space". Later in the course of a telephone conversation, and
to his shame, he hurt his girlfriend terribly but was
helpless to prevent himself from doing so.

Then there was the school trip. One day in November a group
from the school made their way to London to view an
exhibition at the Royal Academy and to spend some time
afterwards in London. She declared that they must see London
Zoo. Not knowing exactly where it was meant that they never
did find it. By then it was getting late so they asked a
policeman the way to the railway station and they began to
make their way there.

At some point they held hands. In four years of friendship
this was the first time that they had touched. The simple
act of holding hands with her defined him. His left hand had
no other purpose now but to hold her hand and the rest of
his body was there to keep it alive so that he could
continue doing so.

Holding hands they arrived at the station. Holding hands
they boarded the train. Holding hands they sat together and
dozed their way back home. Holding hands they left the
station and met his parents. Holding hands they waited for
her father to arrive to collect her. Her father was late. He
held her in his arms and his heart exploded. Joy was far too
small a word. Eventually he convinced her to let them take
her home. Holding hands they were driven to her house.
Paradise was within his grasp. He was complete. A void he
didn't know existed was filled.

They arrived at her house and disaster! The reason for her
father's delay was that her boyfriend had come home from
university unexpectedly and had asked her father to wait so
that he could go with him to collect her and surprise her.

They stopped holding hands; suddenly he was bereft of
purpose. Taking the blame he apologised to her father for
scaring him and he left, the memory of her hand and arms
still fresh on his body and in his mind.

The next day he cycled to her house determined to lay bare
his feelings for her. The memory of holding her gave him the
courage that he lacked and could not have gained from
elsewhere. Her father answered the door and his face held a
look that he couldn't place as he led him into their
kitchen; later he would realise that it was pity. Her father
told him that her boyfriend was there too. She came into the
kitchen and for a long moment they just looked at each
other. And then he knew that he was too late.

He left unsaid the years of yearning and before leaving he
asked for a kiss "for friendship's sake". A wish she granted
and for the first and last time they kissed, a kiss that
could hold no promise of things to come. As they parted on
her doorstep and in his despair, he tried to kiss her again
but she denied him, and his heart broke.

And now the void is still there, a familiar friend after all
this time and for twenty-five years his left hand has had no
meaning.

-Fin-