When I was 17, I got a part time job at the concession stand of a local movie theater. It was amazing. The perks were three-fold: free movie tickets for me and a friend whenever, unlimited Cherry Coke during my shifts (something that was definitely treated like a banned substance at home), and a few of my friends also worked there, so bonus time to hang out and have fun together. To this day, I love to go to the movies, sit back with a giant pop and buttery popcorn and watch the magic unfold on screen.
There was another perk I soon discovered at this job, and his name is Chris. I remember the first time I saw him, another concession employee in a plastic purple apron squirting butter into a tub of popcorn. I liked the way he looked. I spent some time talking with him during slow periods, and I liked the way he looked at the world. I spent more time joking around with him, and I liked the way he laughed. Pretty soon, I had a full-blown crush.
Here's some good news: this story has a happy ending. I wonder how I would think of it today if it had gone differently. Anyway, over the course of a year of being friends, flirting, and taking our breaks together to go to Wendy's or Quizno's for dinner, we finally went out on a date. It was really fun. In fact, I don't think either of us wanted it to end, because after we ate dinner, we drove around so we could talk longer, eventually stopping at an ice cream stand, and later, grabbing a little table at Starbucks.
We had to say good night just before midnight, because my family was leaving for vacation. In fact, once we got back from the beach, I had only a week to pack and prepare to leave for college. So, although I liked him and had fun with him, I didn't see how we could become anything other than what we already were. Flash forward a month, and I was about an hour away at school, Chris was finishing high school and still working at the movie theater with my best friend, who didn't leave for college for another week. Through her, I was able to communicate when I would be home next, and find out if he wanted to get together while I was back. He quickly agreed, and we met at Friendly's on a Saturday night.
It was just like I remembered time spent with him. We laughed a lot, we spent a ridiculous amount of time standing in the parking lot because neither of us wanted the night to end. And part of me was hoping that while we were out there in the semi-dark, that maybe he would kiss me. But after 3 hours (not an exaggeration), I finally had to go home. Unkissed.
On Sunday, I returned to my dorm, ended up in a room full of people bemoaning the sort-of-date-without-a-goodnight-kiss, and had a detailed breakdown of the previous evening and the possibility that this guy was just not into me. Before I went to bed that night, I checked the computer that I shared with three other people (because that's how we rolled in 2000) and saw a message from Chris, which basically said that he was sorry he didn't kiss me, he got nervous and chickened out, but he wanted to see me again soon, and maybe we should start calling each other boyfriend/girlfriend. I sent a message back (YES, duh!) and began my first serious relationship.
It took me way too long to realize that the feelings I had were love; probably not until a year into dating him did I feel that strong emotion. Just to balance each other out, he felt it a little too quickly and said "I love you" three weeks after we agreed to start dating. It was this relationship that transformed me the most over the coming years, as my heart finally joined the rest of my body in making decisions and planning for the future. Things that I had, until very recently, sworn off (marriage, parenthood, suburban domesticity) were suddenly back on the menu, and the detour that was started by my depression further drifted from my original plan for my life.
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