First Love, Last Chance (a true story)

Unbelievable as it may seem, this is, in fact, a true story. The names (except for my own) and a few other details have been changed to protect the guilty. Also, I was in third grade, not fifth, when this happened. The reason I changed it to fifth grade is because I suspected no one would believe such a thing could happen to a third grader.

I wrote this story when I was a teacher in my early 30s. I submitted it to a magazine called Oregon English, whose editor happened to be a former high school English teacher of mine. I always wondered whether he published this story because he knew me—or despite the fact that he knew me. I'll never know. Just like he never knew that it was a true story.

Last I heard, the girl in tis story grew up and became a wife (married an old grade-school friend of mine), and recently had a bad ATV accident that left her temporarily paralyzed. I wish her a full recovery, and a long and happy life full of good memories. Like the one she gave to me.

First Love, Last Chance

Dawn was the kind of girl any fifth-grade boy would die for. She had long, brown hair that swept back behind her perfect little ears and cascaded down her back like a waterfall's dream. Her eyes, also brown, shimmered as if backlit by some ethereal fire. And her mouth—with its perfect pearls lined up behind those soft, alluring lips poised for pouting or playing—her mouth alone was worth any embarrassment I could suffer from getting caught staring during a math lesson. If only Da Vinci had known her! My Mona Lisa—Dawn (even her name was delicious)—was the angel of every saint's fantasy.

Sure, there were other pretty girls in the class, and maybe even one or two worthy of the Valentines we had to send, but none of them was Dawn. Even Christy, whose beauty and charm had once inspired me to profess my love for her on a hand-made birthday card (another required class project), couldn't measure up. Perhaps it was because, unlike Dawn, Christy was obtainable—which made her slightly less desirable—and she lacked that unfathomable, seductive mystique which made Dawn interesting, challenging…and dangerous.

Dawn was dangerous—not because she was a goddess at age ten (although any girl who could pose for the cover of Cosmopolitan at that age should be considered a potential threat to mankind); not because her presence in class threatened my academic eligibility for sixth grade (although I did blow several easy tests just for lack of concentration); not even because I was so infatuated with her that I would eventually implode into a black hole of unrequited love (or, if I ever got up the nerve to touch her, explode into a billion fragments of sheer ecstasy). No, she was dangerous for another reason, and one which I have realized only recently in retrospect. She could read minds.

That's right: in addition to being painfully pleasant to look at, she was also psychic. The reason I didn't figure that out until recently is that she practiced her clairvoyeurism very discreetly; there was never any hint when she looked nonchalantly in your direction or brushed past you that she was hanging ten on your alpha waves. She knew when she got her drink at the fountain and I followed, caressing the handle where her thumb had just been, that I was whirling in enchantment, vertigone…she knew that I made a fool of myself playing Ringo in that Beatles lip-sync act just for her amusement…she knew that I made friends with her brother Brian not because we had boxing lessons together, but because he lived in the same house with her…she knew all of my deepest feelings and thoughts, and she knew that about 97.4 percent of them centered on her.

At least, I 'm pretty sure she knew it—why else would she do what she did to me? Why else would she taunt and torture me that way?

It happened one rainy winter's day after school. I had gone home with Brian to change for boxing lessons (my only reason for taking boxing was to impress Dawn; so far, it hadn't seemed to work), and Brian let me use his bedroom to change in. Dawn's bedroom was about fifteen feet further down the hall; I thought she might be in her room, but I wasn't sure. If she was in her room, she was being very quiet. 

When I was through changing, I came out and Brian went in. As I stood there waiting for Brian outside his closed door, Dawn emerged from her bedroom, smiling that devastating, innocent/mischievous smile. "Rick," she purred, "come in here; I have a book I'd like to show you."

My heart leaped up to my throat. "W-what?" I stammered, trying desperately not to hyperventilate, turn red, or slobber.

"Come on," she motioned. "I have a really neat book I want you to see."

For some reason, I hesitated. Was this really happening to me? Was the girl of my dreams actually inviting me into her bedroom? And if so, why? What could I say? "Nope, sorry, I'm busy. Show me another day." Or, "Why not just bring the book out here?" Or, "Are you sure you just want to show me a book, or do you have hanky panky in mind?" My mind was spinning so fast it was starting to turn my stomach—and I sure as hell didn't want to throw up in front of Dawn.

My feet started to move. My body followed. I felt hot; my palms began to sweat. It was all I could do to keep from falling over. I couldn't smile; I was lucky to muster any expression, considering the condition of my nerves. I kept falling forward until I was at her bedroom door…and then I thought I would surely either faint, or wake up and realize I was watching a rerun of Fantasy Island.

Now I was inside her bedroom; inside Dawn's bedroom. Ten years old, and already on the edge of nirvana. Surely this meant that I would soon die, having nothing left to experience, no other goals to attain. My heart was pounding so hard I had to force it back down into my chest to give it room to beat.

Dawn closed the bedroom door behind us—and locked it. We were alone. 

My mind went blank. My body was numb. Dawn moved toward me. Oh God, I thought, I'm too young to die. I stood there, frozen, unable to think, unable to move. The walls were closing in around me.

Then she spoke. "Now I've got you where I want you," she said, and she moved even closer to me. I think I backed up a little. Her voice had jolted my senses back into operation; I was beginning to get the feeling back in my hands and feet. Now if I could just get my brain working. She moved toward me again; I backed up a little more. My back touched the bedroom door. "Come on, Rick," she cooed, "kiss me." Now her face was just inches from mine, and her lips were glistening like a rose sculpted from ice. My lips just hung open, trembling.

"Um…uh…" I stammered, "where's that book you—you w-wanted to show me? (Oh my God, did I really say that? Here I was, locked in the bedroom of the most beautiful creature on earth, and all I could think of was a book?)

"I lied about the book," Dawn confessed, and she moved still closer to me. Now, suddenly, I felt threatened. I didn't like being pursued. I wanted to be the aggressor; Dawn was stripping me of my masculinity. I couldn't let that happen.

My brain clicked back into operation. I reached for the doorknob. Dawn's hand grabbed mine. Her face turned sour; it was no longer the face of an angel. In fact, it was beginning to look rather unattractive. Now all I wanted was out. Fortunately, God came to my rescue—in the form of Dawn's mother.

"Dawn," her mother's voice boomed from the living room, "what are you doing, dear?"

Now Dawn's face looked just plain ugly. "Nothing, Mother," she shouted back at her, half-snarling like a dog. She released my hand. I turned the doorknob. I fell out of Dawn's bedroom and gasped, free to breathe again. Dawn closed the door behind me—no, slammed the door behind me, with more force than you'd expect from a ten-year-old girl. I'd heard the expression before about hell having no fury like a woman scorned, but only now did I begin to realize exactly what it meant. The fact that a girl could go from angel to demon in four seconds flat blew my mind. Who could ever live with such a creature? (I gained a lot of respect for my dad that day.)

The next day at school, Dawn acted as if nothing had happened. And perhaps nothing had happened, technically speaking. But it almost did, and things were very different because of it. My goddess and I had switched places. She was now obtainable…and I wasn't.