5 Great Loves of my life

I was inspired by CJane's post on the 5 greatest Loves of her life in honor of Valentine's Day. Granted she is posting a "Love" per day. I will probably post all five in a single post. Or not. Who knows? It depends on how long this ends up being.

That being said, CJane's post caused me to do some soul searching, and this caused me to have some seriously odd dreams last night - involving a few of my "loves." So, let's begin:

#1. Erin as a Stalker...

I could easily start my great loves with my first kiss. But in the grand scheme of things, Tom Peterson was not a great love. He was my first high-school boyfriend, and a pretty good kisser, but I always knew it would end. You see, I always knew that Tom was just a little too “nerd” for me. He was an okay boyfriend: someone to go to dances with, hang out with, make out with, but I was already in love with someone else. Heck, I was already thinking of breaking up with him when I found out he was also seeing someone else. (The forever difference between us was fidelity – I had it. He didn’t.) So let’s go back to the beginning of my first “love.”

Flash back to the Spring of 1992, I was in the 6^th grade at Lyons Middle School. I wasn’t heavy yet, but I wasn’t thin by any means; I was more of a round shape. Soft and already sporting the family’s troublesome acne, I didn’t have a lot of self confidence. I masked this lack of courage by being talkative and loud – not my finest features. And that mask lasted until college. Anyway, back on track. It was probably April or May, and the school play was going on. Something about a Tumbleweed or something. I don’t remember much except an old Western town, soldiers and Indians. I went because my friends were in it. Anousha was an Indian (because she had black waist-length hair) and some other friends had parts. I remember sitting with my friend Beth and laughing at her brother Bryan dressed as a soldier. And then I saw the other soldier… He was tall, and broad shouldered with short dark hair. He seemed so much older than Bryan, though Bryan was in the 8^th grade. His name was Pete Walker, and this was our beginning. I became acutely aware of him, and he had no idea that I existed.

School ended in June and three months went by in a flash. I don’t remember thinking much of Pete Walker during the 7^th grade. I remember seeing him with other girls at dances, but I was obsessed with my own existence (and Bob Cleppe. I always kept my eggs in a few baskets.)  I forgot about everything older than me during 8^th grade.  It was like Senior Year, round 1; we were the top of the totum pole. Fast-forward to the Fall of 1994. I’m a freshman in high school. And suddenly everything is different: I’m running from class to class all over the school, I’m taking the bus, and I am once again on the bottom of the totum pole.  But things start to look up. I’m a year ahead in math, so when I entered Dr. Dennis’ geometry class I was one of a few freshmen surrounded by sophomores. I took the seat next to my friend’s older sister. As the class begins, we pass back the intro sheet and I turn around to hand it to the person behind me, and who do you think it is? Yep, Pete Walker, except now Pete is even taller and more broad shouldered. He says “Hey” and “Thank you,” while looking directly into my eyes. And I go stupid. My mouth immediately dries up and I can’t even talk. I can feel myself turning bright red and I turn around to face forward. From the corner of my eye, I can see my friend’s sister looking at me like I’ve lost it. Little did I know that Pete and I would sit next to each other in math class for the next 3 years until he graduated. (Thank goodness for not having assigned seating.)

Pete was pretty talkative. And the fact that he got Geometry far better than I did gave me the opening I needed. We became “class friends,” i.e. we’d be friends in class, and occasionally around school, but we didn’t hang out together. And by the time I got high school, Pete was already dating Kara Evans. Kara was petite: shorter than me, but also perfectly proportionate, and beautiful. It’s like she had never seen a blemish. She was the editor of the newspaper the 2 years we went to school together. She was a year older than Pete, thus 2 years older than me. And she was Nice. To everyone. I had no choice but to hate her, which was hard, but I did my best. (Anyone else weirded out by how much I remember 17 years later? OMG.)

My (and often my passengers') view of the Walker house.

Pete and I had English and math classes together. I watched him play football and basketball. I pined for something more than bantering and having fun in class. I had to drive past his house in order to get home from anywhere South of my house. He lived blocks from my bff Anousha. Once I got my license, I drove past his house anytime I was remotely close by, even with friends or my sister in the car. My friends knew how I felt, and they didn’t give me too hard of a time for the public stalking by vehicle, considering that Pete lived across the street from the Courthouse, police station, and jail. My Junior year (and his Senior year) I heard than Pete and Kara had (finally) broken up when she went off to college. I was elated. It was obviously not his decision. That didn’t damper my mood. I was convinced that everything would work out the way it was meant to. We would be high school sweethearts, and it would be like an after-school special. Alas, this was never going to happen.

In the fall of 1996, my foot was broken while messing around with some friends. I was on crutches forever. And Pete volunteered to carry my books to most of my classes. At first, I thought it was because we got out of class early, but it never was. We talked the whole time; he kept pace with my gimpy-ness. I have never been so happy to be on crutches. I thought that this was the perfect time for something, anything, to happen. But it never did. Eventually I was healed, and I no longer needed a hero. A few months later when I fell and broke my wrist, he had a good laugh at my klutziness, and offered to once again carry my books. But since I could walk, the teachers never fell for it. And so it went for the rest of the year. We talked, but nothing more ever happened. Pete had to know how I felt. Or at least have an idea. I was completely obvious. Either that, or he thought I had some special needs. (Cue the Homer Simpson “D’Oh!” moment.)

Pete Walker graduated from Clinton High in 1997. He went away to college, I thought he went to the University of Iowa, but I can’t remember. Every weekend and holiday, I drove past his house. Sometimes I saw him, more often not. In the fall of 1998, I started at Drake University. I didn’t forget Pete. I still drove past his house on holidays home. And then I heard he had moved to Colorado. And that he had become a plumber. His parents sold the house and moved somewhere else within town. The new owners changed things. And suddenly (without social media) he was gone. And I had to find a Real person to fall for. But the idea of Pete Walker lives on in my heart - My first real crush. And if you ask my sister, it lived on well into my 20s, over a decade of Crush-ness.

So this will be a post of only One Great Love... my first, unrequited Love. Who knew it would take so long to write?