I Remember Everything

visual by Cindy Phung

“I have to tell you,
there are times when
the sun strikes me
like a gong,
and I remember everything,
even your ears.”

— I have to tell you 
by Dorothea Grossman

I’ve tried to write about this for the longest time but the words never felt right — they either felt too raw or too meaningless. Mostly, it never felt right because stories about first loves never captured what I felt with mine. Which is to say, my first love never was truly mine. Today, though, I’m ready. 

I met him in February of 2014. The only reason I know this is because I still have my seventh grade ID from when I moved schools. At this new school, I shared two classes, I think, maybe three with him. To me, he was the cute kind boy who would always say hi to me. I didn’t know it but he would be the one to teach me about the power of first loves and what they take and leave behind when it’s over. I simply remember one day knowing he was going to be there. Waiting.

I have a terrible memory of the trivial things but when it comes to him, I can only remember too little or too much. 

One memory I recall too vividly was when I was 12 and he said he liked me. I remember the color of the room we were in and the pencil he handed over to me when he said it. I remember feeling my breath stop and the feeling washing over me. I don’t remember what came next though, all I know is the next day I called my friends and asked for their advice. Why? My parents would never let me date. (It’s funny now that in that moment, I thought we were going to be in it for the long run.) But like all good friends, they suggested I write a note to him saying I was lesbian and that I couldn’t date him. So I wrote it and gave it to him the next day. He then retracted his statement and had his friend tell me he didn’t like me. The rest I don’t remember. 

We never spoke about the incident afterward. 

A year and summer passed between us and then high school came around; and eventually, we wound up back in each other’s life. We laughed, cried and did all the things best friends did. Yet time caught up to us again and we didn’t have any classes together for another year. When we did meet again we had drifted apart and had become different people. By then too, he had moved on. I remember seeing them together for the first time and feeling my stomach sink. 

I realized then he was my first real love.

Now, it’s probably been a year since I’ve talked to him — the last real conversation we had was at our high school graduation. It was something about going out and catching up. We probably hadn’t talked for a year before that.

So what was it? We never dated, never kissed and hadn’t even held hands.

Over the years, I’ve kept trying to put a name to what we shared because in essence it was nothing. Nothing but this feeling I had whenever we saw each other. A pull. A rush. Something intangible but there and untouched. This unfamiliar feeling that’s been there for years, reminding me of moments we shared.

Some days I remember everything. Other days, I force myself to remember because I find I’m already forgetting the feeling of us waiting for our parents on the lawn of the junior high we went to. Or because I find I’m forgetting the secrets we told each other on our walks home. 

I try to remember everything now because of him. Mostly, it’s because I’m afraid I’ll forget about people I love — how I met them, where I first saw them, what we first said to each other. It’s become a game I play with myself. Somedays I hate him for it and other days I’m thankful because being afraid of forgetting them makes me want to tattoo it in my heart. Including moments I shared with him. Like the way he would throw his head back when he found something hilarious or the way he loved drawing but then randomly gave it up.

Today, I think about him in the light someone with a hundred years behind them put their first love in; the way you can love something even when it’s no longer there. The way you miss someone who has died and you know, just know, this is how things are and there is no explanation why things happen the way they do. I loved him in the way you can love someone from far away and closely too. 

And that’s what first loves are — they are the feeling of everything and nothing at the same time. A paradox that can only exist if neither is true or false.