I met him on a Sunday. I was eight
years old. I remember spinning around in my Sunday best hoping he would notice.
I remember Tommy Wiessner looking at me like he was jealous. I remember liking
it. Tommy gave me a red satin heart shaped box to keep sacred things in. I have
it to this day, almost thirty years later. Stephen and I were cosmic. We were
magnetic. We made butterflies appear in stomachs. We were speechless and
nervous and awkward. We were first love.
Our love lasted ten entire years. I
will never forget segregated lines. I will never forget being a grade ahead and
being offered one more grade. My father didn't feel it would be good for my
social life. All I could consider was Stephen Carl Thompson. We had a class or
two together. There was lunch and assemblies. There was recess. I will never
forget the day when a water spout started travelling off the Bay and over the
land for a short time which seemed to last for an eternity. We were seamed together
and scared as though we were constructed as one being. We may have held hands.
I honestly don’t remember. What I will never forget is the moment that water
spout felt so close, the wind whipping so strong and the fibers of our very
soul shook to the marrow of our making. We were petrified. Just in the nick of
time, the spout fell apart and it was the most amazing thing to watch! I loved
him.
I remember swing-sets and ninja
moves. I remember Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He was Raphael. I was April. I
remember his window facing the playground. I remember every late night that my
Mother spent upset that my father was not yet done in his office. I remember
those same nights meaning more heat, more time, more lust spent staring at
Stephen’s open window. I remember my youth. I remember eye contact meaning everything. I
remember the sweaters we had that were negative opposites of one another. So
similar. So familiar. So correct.
I remember the letter I wrote
composed in Spanish. My Spanish was not as good and Sandra’s translation not as
accurate. That letter required my parents to pull me out of school and
homeschool me for almost three years! In the letter I quoted songs. I did the
best I could with the Spanish I had learned. I was not good enough. The
mistranslation cost me my freedom. I was monitored. What was worse, I was taken
away from Stephen. I saw him at church and how grateful I was that my Pastor
father was so incredibly active but my mother even walked with me to the
restroom. I fumed. Lost I felt without him.
Little did I know how much worse it
could be! When I was fifteen he and his family returned to their roots in
Alabama. I mourned for him. I missed him more than I knew my young heart could
handle. There were phone calls and letters. None of this would ever suffice. I
transpired against my father’s wishes. I purchased a plane ticket at seventeen.
I was fresh out of high school. I arrived in Alabama not having any idea what
to expect.
We walked many miles. We talked
about many things. We planned a wedding on a leap year, on a day that could
only come around every four years. He bought me a gold ring. I liked silver. We
moved back to Tampa. He lived with my Uncle. We mis-carried a child. We loved.
We fought. We kissed. We talked. We wrought iron dreams in streets paved with anger.
We wondered at the meaning of our young existence. We offered persistence to
stories not yet written. We strived for greatness. We waited and stated things
that were meant to be forever, however forever was not yet understood by
either. I regret nothing. Even when he moved back home, I was alone and aching
for his kiss. I knew however we were meant to live separate lives. We danced
over stars and underneath overpasses. We even had adventures underneath streets
and in cemeteries. We were fearless. We were not permanent.
My first taste of forever danced
and dissolved. I missed him desperately yet moved on. We kept in touch over the
years and I later knew he married, had children, loved. I have dreamed of him
on a regular basis every month of my life since the first day I laid eyes on
him. The year he died in that tragic car
accident with his young son Nathan, I had just released my first album, After
the Rain. After the Rain was the title track of the album and happened to be a
song I wrote for him when I was fifteen and he and his family moved away from
me and back to Alabama.
I dream of him still and believe I
always will. I know he and his son are running in the sunshine in another
place, another time Sublime energy is forged with the knowing of your first
love. I was glad he could be mine and know that his love will stay with me for
the rest of time. So much of my experiences in love have been shaped by the
anticipation, the eye contact, the dreams and the stories that Stephen and I
shared. The music, the sunshine, the laughter and even the waterspout! Ninja
moves on hillsides waiting and trees I climbed in yards no longer there. I
remember it all. The melodic intonations of the baby grand and the secrets we
sometimes forgot to share. I will never forget. Love is sacred. I am love.
Memories are eternal. Long live Stephen Carl Thompson. Long live first love.
