How does one learn to love? To feel for the first time that strange emotion, causing your heart to race and blush to form on your cheeks. Words dry in your mouth leaving you dumbstruck. Childhood crushes are special, unique in their simplicity. Innocent and pure. In those final years before the change, before everything changes. Boy and Girls. Young, simple, and free.
We were in 5th and 6th grade; two years spent together. Her name was Kara and to my young heart she was perfection. Of medium height and slender, with fair golden skin. Straight black shoulder length hair that framed her face. Kind brown eyes, with thin eyelids slanting gently to the side. She seemed to always wear a bright warm smile. She was Korean, adopted by an American family. Prior to this I never knew anyone who was adopted. It was a foreign concept, something that existed outside of my world and served to make her seem more exotic. She had a younger sister, also adopted. A worthy act, bringing children into a loving family. I wonder at the chain of events that brought her, born on the other side of the world, into my life.
I had a couple of girl interests before, and plenty after, yet looking back none compared. This was before teenage lust forever altered our intentions. It was enough simply to be close, happy in her company. Her smile always brightened up my day. No matter how long I was there, I wanted more. Something more – at the time I did not know what that meant. Such meaning comes only with age. What I craved was a connection, not quite like a friend – I had those, but something else, undefinable. A child is incapable of fully understanding this desire for intimacy. A bond between two who find comfort in each other. Holding hands or a simple kiss on the cheek seemed unthinkable at the time. So instead as children we contain our emotions, letting few if any known. We suffer in these feelings, unable to process what is occurring, let alone able to express it.
Time has left only impressions and fragments of memories. Incomplete, fractured – never whole. Only pieces that you try in vain to assemble. Like how she had a small horizontal scar over the bridge of her nose. Small yet noticeable to me. A scar, how did she get it, and why do I remember it now? Then there is the BMW her parents drove. I remember that car, a vivid red. She said they drove a “Beamer.” The first time I heard that word. And now whenever I see one, I smile inside, remembering. Did she get dropped off at school along with her sister in that car? I have a vague recollection of that happening, but I can’t place a specific instance – memory fails. I do remember seeing that car parked outside a house once, I assumed that is where she lived. Not too many red BMWs in that part of town then. The car parked neatly outside, me wondering what she was up too. And there is the memory of running into her at the video rental store. She was there with her sister and parents. I was with mine. My heart stopped when I realized she was inside. My face must have turned beat red. Palms sweaty, heart pounding. A random occurrence on a Friday evening. It made my weekend, and I wished a thousand times after to run into her again outside of school. But I don’t believe it ever did happen. The stupidity of childhood. Instead of pretending not to notice, instead of pretending to focus on whatever dumb video game I was renting, I should have gone up and said “Hello.” These are the moments that live on in my mind, the remnants of her. Everything else faded away.
After sixth grade Kara would move away. Junior High would start, and with it all the chaos that comes from that pivotal time. What did I think when I did not see her again? Did I look in vain for her? Did I ask her friends about her? I find myself unable to remember. A strange thing that. In time I would notice other girls and develop infatuations, infatuations that if we are being honest were not as pure and innocent. Puberty being what it is, boy and girl interactions never again would be the same. A sort of tension would always be present. And questions came from friends as they ask, “do they like each other?” Everyone was keenly aware that we were forever changed. That sooner or later we would all be dating, kissing, and more. In middle school we were preparing ourselves for that next phase; and we put away our childhood feelings. Eventually she would pass from my mind – yet never completely passing from my heart. I had felt too much to ever forget.
To go back in time, to relive a single day. To experience those emotions once again, fresh and new. I tell myself I would act different. I would be bold, braver. I would live completely in the moment, no regret over inaction. Our road may still diverge, but at least this time I would tell, and she would know. But you can never go back. Life’s cruel irony that the most cherished moments are also the most fleeting. That moments of happiness go by faster than those of sadness. In truth I would not trade one of my days now for a day then. That every day since has made me into who I am now. And yet the heart yearns, wishes to go back, just for a bit. To feel again, the love that only a child can feel. Innocent, pure – and timeless.
We are adults now. She is walking her own path, as am I – both of us burdened by life and the concerns of adulthood. But through all the long years since, occasionally I would stop – search my mind and heart, look back and wonder. What became of her? Where is she living? How is she doing? Is she married; does she have children? What would I think of her now? What would she think of me? Did she ever feel the same? Was something shared – or did it exist only in my heart? Maybe in time our paths will intersect once again. A place where we can look upon each other with fresh eyes and ask, “Where have you been?” It is lovely to think so.
Smiling girl – holding my heart
First love – innocent and true
Kara, who went away – and never returned.
