Valentine's Extravaganza

First Crush

We begin by writing about my first crush.

It's a little hard to say what counts as crush, but I guess it was Victoria.

Vicky was a girl in my third grade class and, at the beginning of the year, I was seated next to her. She seemed like a very nice girl and for the first few days, we spent a great deal of time whispering and talking about this and that. I eventually came to think of her as my girlfriend, even though, at eight years old, I didn't completely understand what that entailed.

Well, time passed, and pretty soon I was inserting her into my fantasies. Whenever, I read a book or saw a movie, I would imagine what it was like if I were the hero and she was the heroine.

One day at lunch, a boy asked me if I was in love with anyone. (Eight-year-old boys talk about some strange things in the cafeteria.) "I wouldn't tell you," I said.

"Oh come on," said the boy. "Just whisper it in my ear."

"You'll tell."

"I promise I won't."

I looked at him. In hindsight, I can't believe how dumb I was. I mean, even if he didn't tell, what good would it do me for him to know? But I guess, when you have an idea like that in your head, you want someone to find out about it. I don't know why.

So I asked, "Do you really promise not to tell? Cross your heart/ Hope to die/ Stick a needle through your eye?"

"Sure," said the boy, "Cross my heart/ Hope to die/ Stick a needle through my eye."

I figured I was safe. Nobody would ever dare break a promise after uttering that sacred oath. So I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I love Vicky."

It took a split second for him to yell, "He loves Vicky to the entire boys' table."

"You promised," I said.

He held up his hand gleefully. "My fingers were crossed."

Darn! I had forgotten that. It doesn't matter how sacred the oath, you make, everyone knows that crossing one's fingers makes it invalid.

By now, the news that "Alex loves Vicky!" had spread all the way down the boys' table and was making its way next door to the girls' table. As lunch ended and we were dumping our trays in the trash, before leaving the cafeteria, I saw Vicky. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "Thanks a lot, Alex!" sarcastically.

Vicky and I didn't have much to say to each other after that. After third grade, we stopped seeing each other at all. She was never in the same class as me again. Recently, I found her on Facebook. She is married and has at least one child. Neither of us has bothered making a friend request.