First Loves
Did He Fall or Did He Jump?
The first boy, who I ever loved, fell out of a window. I remember the moment I found out. I was at an art fair. A group of friends was gathered together, watching me as I approached.
I’m glad now, that I kissed him. We hadn’t been together at the time, but I’d loved him my whole life. My boyfriend broke up with me for it but now that Peter’s been gone for thirty years, I don’t regret it.
We lived in another world, Peter and I. We planned to get married when we were five years old. I remember everything about him. His narrow green eyes, his floppy blond surfer hair, his high cheekbones, his long fingers. I remember him from when he was a child and I remember him from when was a man.
At seven, we thought of ourselves as adults. We had adult plans. His mother disappeared sometimes to get herself together. I don’t know what kind of place she went to. The words always were Mary went away to get herself together.
In my child’s mind and in my adult one, I imagined the place as an enormous, intimidating, institutional, brick building with benches spaced out behind a walled-in lawn. I imagined Mary sitting on a bench, looking out, waiting to feel better.
Mary was flamboyant, larger than life, ginger-haired, green-eyed like him, beautiful, too beautiful, a magnet for chaos and madness. When she went away, Peter stayed with us. That’s how I remember it, that I was his protector.
We were in love when we were young, but then his mother took him away and left the country. I don’t remember if he said goodbye. I don’t think so. It was like he was airlifted out of my life.
The way I remember it, even knowing how fallible memory is now, was that I walked to his house one day and he was gone.
When he came back fifteen years later, time became an accordion. I couldn’t differentiate between the past from the present. All the chords in between were woven together, our disparate lives became one instrument. We were fused and everyone around us was the chorus.
