September was a fever. Summer faded to fall and my love of Michael blossomed into an obsession. Every moment I spent thinking about him. What was he doing? What was he thinking? What clothes was he wearing? I was a student at the local college and Michael sold vacuum cleaners. Kirby vacuums. He had his own office and his own salespeople. He went to sales seminars and quoted Zig Ziglar. I thought it was all silly. Selling Kirbys was my summer job. I turned down a research opportunity with a professor because I fell in love with Michael.
In September, he said we weren’t dating. He didn’t want a relationship.
“Let’s be clear, we are just two people who choose to spend time together.” His penis was in my mouth when he said it.
“But….(I love you).” I kissed him. Pleaded with him. “(I need you, don’t leave me) Okay.”
Love is about the subtext. Love is found in what is unsaid.
I was miserable. I walked to class and cried. And then I saw his blue Volkswagon van. It turned the corner. I waved and ran. The car continued on. I saw his car again after class. He was pulling out of a parking lot. Was he following me? Did he love me? I saw his car several more times over the next week. Each day I called him and left messages. He finally called me back.
“Why did you leave me so many messages?” he asked.
“You were following me,” I said.
He laughed. “I’ve been in Baltimore the whole week. I’ve been with family.”
That’s when I knew. My love of him would haunt me for years. Possibly until I exhaled my last breath. First love wounds you like no other love. Sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t.
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