My junior prom, in 2000, was a defining day for me.
The preceeding had been a dramatic couple of months - prom pressures and date disasters in force. The day before spring break, my friend, David, who I knew was into me, although I had my sights set elsewhere, wrote me a letter that made me blush; he told me he liked me, that everything I was, everything I thought, was beautiful to him. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 17, so he waited patiently to confess his feelings. I couldn’t come up with a response, so I ignored the whole thing. Then he tricked me into going to prom with him and I was bitter - until he showed up at my door, looking so cute, all cleaned up.
He didn’t kiss me that night, so I gave him a peck on the cheek and ran into my house.*
We dated for nearly five years.
Through the remainder of high school.
Through all three years of college (I graduated a year early; he dropped out, but stayed in Madison).
I broke up with him and thought I could feel the echo of my heart breaking through my body.
We half-tried to make it work for months, until I stopped.
I dated and went through a “slutty stage” for a couple of months.
I told P about said slutty stage our first night together.
He laughed (and worried a little inside), and we’ve been together ever since - the beginning was easy and the now is sometimes a challenge, but worth it every second.
Five years, in July, will make our relationship my longest, finally.
I still think about David, and how our relationship was never bad. He’s a great guy, and I would have been mostly happy with him.
But life with P is right. It fits, we fit.
I don’t regret anything.
Happy would-be ten-year anniversary, David.
*Sidenote: after prom, we went to the beach for a walk, and ran accross an acquaintence of his, who he said was nuts and also probably referred to her as a psycho. They’ve now been dating for…2+ years. He seems happy.