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.
