Not Very Good Sex, Lies Upon Lies and No Videotape

AKA: My recent encounter with an apparent sociopath from my past.

Most of us, I think, remember fondly our “first loves” — those “puppy dog” type crushes that are uniquely innocent as a teenager, or in my own instance, at the age of 17. And yes, I am well aware of the Stevie Nicks song “Edge of Seventeen” and yes, dear Stevie perfectly captured the essence of that age.

For me, the “Edge of Seventeen” was someone who had been a quarterback in his high school, and for me, as a ballet dancer. I knew nothing about football other than that it had four quarters in it, and he knew even less about ballet. We met at 17, we communicated through hand written letters (this was before the internet), and he was the very first boy who ever sent me roses. My mother, who was suitably impressed by him said to me, “He’s a keeper” and yet, I let him go. I let him go for several reasons, chief among them being that he was much more religious than I was, and also, because I was young and wanted to explore the world. We were so very close, until we weren’t and like many “young loves” we parted ways, and our lives took different and divergent paths. We both married (and later divorced). He had kids, I didn’t. He became a glass designer and corporate shill; I became…and am still becoming…me. Whoever that is. I’m still trying to figure it all out.

Also, I’m not now nor have I ever been or ever plan to be a corporate shill.