My First Crush

Amy recently wrote about her first crush and I commented that I’d probably share my story over here.

Today’s your lucky day! I actually posted this story a long time ago – in 2002, to be exact. But given Amy’s recent post, I thought I’d post it again.

My dad (who was in the Navy) announced that we were moving from Washington State to California and that the moving date had been set for the weekend of a big dance at my junior high school. I was devastated. I had had a crush on Jimmy since the 5th grade and I had hoped to finally tell him how much I liked him and see if he’d dance with me. Instead, I spent the week leading up to the dance telling all my friends that I was moving away.

It was held in the school gym, with streamers as decorations and all the music you loved and hated in 1981. All my friends were there, and I spent most of the night building up the courage to ask Jimmy to dance. You see, in elementary school I was a bully and spent half my day pinching the boys and making them cry. That was the way I showed my love for them. In fourth grade I had had a crush on ANOTHER Jimmy and he bore the bruises to prove it. So while I was friends with Jimmy, I honestly didn’t know if he liked me for me, or if he liked me because he feared me.

The dance was nearing an end, and I still hadn’t spoken to Jimmy. Then the dj announced the last slow dance – and Sheena Easton’s “For Your Eyes Only” started playing. Realizing I was going to miss my chance, I walked over to Jimmy and asked him to dance. I remember his eyes registering mild surprise and fear – wondering if it was a trick. Then he smiled. And said yes. We walked into the middle of the gym and for the next three minutes of my life I was heaven. It was my turn for surprises when he said he would miss me after I moved to California, and that I should keep in touch. He had given me his address earlier in the week (okay, I had forced him to give me his address while pinching his non-writing arm), and so I told him I definitely would.

The dance ended, we said goodbye, and that was the last time I ever saw Jimmy. I left the dance as soon as we parted ways, and with that my family moved to California.

We wrote a few times to each other – vague, half-friendly attempts at communication. He told me what I was missing in Washington, and I told him how great California was. After a handful of letters back and forth, we stopped writing. I don’t know who made the decision to give up keeping in touch, but there it was. I found a new crush at my middle school in CA (a wonderfully shy boy named Franco), and I have no idea what happened to Jimmy.