Firsts

The first time I saw you, it was at the first football game of the season. I was sixteen and you were fourteen, and until I saw you through the mesh of my mascot costume, I didn’t understand why upperclassmen could ever even think about crushing on freshmen. But I was just the idiot dancing around in the tiger suit and you were well on your way to being an honor student.

And man oh man, the second you tackled me with the rest of your team during halftime, I just knew.

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I couldn’t let you know who I was. There was no way you could know me, anyway. I went out of my way to stay out of your path even though we shared gym and drama class, but somehow you managed to fucking crash into me. The first thing you ever said to me was, “You make a good lion, dude,” and I was so dumbstruck that all I could do was laugh and say back, “You’re a good tin man, too.”

We had just been cast in our parts for The Wizard of Oz that year. I was just starting to grow my hair out and I could hardly even ask questions, let alone roar. I guess you saw through me from the start.

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The first time we had a conversation was when it was raining one day after rehearsal. I was waiting for my mom to pick me up and you were waiting for your brother. I was so nervous that I had to keep telling myself not to answer with one-word sentences, but you spoke so easily that after a while it was contagious. When your brother squealed into the parking lot, you waved goodbye and said, “See you later, man,” while I smiled back.

I checked my watch; my mom said she would be there at four. It was 4:45 and it wasn’t the first time our ride home was uncomfortable.

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Every other day, you’d show up to rehearsal in football garb. Your coach agreed to let you out of practice early on the days you had to be there; after all, everything extracurricular was only to look good on college applications, right? And those were the first times that I realized I had a big, stupid crush on you. I never felt that way about girls. Advanced placement classes were tough, after-school activities were becoming a burden, and the secrets I had to keep were complicated.

But seeing you smile at me from over your shoulder in the dressing room made everything that much more complicated, and for that, I can’t stand the fucking sight of you.

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My Cheyenne great-grandma was an artist in her time. She saw big cities and people who tried to take everything away from her, and when she was happy with her life, she settled down with my grandfather. And years later, I never felt any shame in my tan skin or my ancestry. I had a big family. Even though I didn’t have any siblings, I had cousins, aunts, uncles, and parents who only wanted the best.

When I was sixteen, I told my youngest cousin that I had a crush on a boy at school. She mentioned it in front of my mother in passing, as if she were playing dolls or something simple like that. My mom dropped the necklace she was making and then she stared me down.

I didn’t have the power to deny it. I sat down and listened to lectures from my parents from that day forward. The first time I dyed my hair brown was a week after my dad told me to sort my shit out, and then I think I finally knew what panic was.

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Our high school’s mascot wasn’t very energetic for a few months there. There was only one other person who knew I was in the costume, and that was one of your football coaches. I told him I was feeling down and he awkwardly said he wished me the best; it meant a lot. It also meant a lot when you asked if I was alright. I was too afraid to say I wasn’t okay, but you looked me in the baggy eyes and asked again.

That was the first time you held my hand. I almost cried, but I didn’t, and I’m glad I didn’t, because I was always too mushy for you anyway and that would’ve set you off from the start.

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The first time you asked me on a date, it was during winter break of that year. You texted me on your flip-phone and I texted you back on my candybar-phone. We went to see Sweeney Todd in theatres and then I drove you home. You kissed me on the cheek and acted so bashful afterwards, but I can’t say anything bad about that since I spilled my drink on your pants.

We laughed it off, though, despite my profuse apologies and the way you dropped the f-bomb in a dark theatre.

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According to you, our first kiss was supposed to be during Sweeney Todd, but you apparently chickened out and went for my cheek instead. I was grinning like a moron when you told me that. A boy liked me back? Unthinkable! I was lucky to even have a real friend at that point instead of just peers who knew my name. I never thought I would deserve someone who would kiss me in the cold sunshine like you did, hanging out in front of the football field after one of your practice days.

But you did, you kissed me, and that was when I could feel my insides twist up.

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The first time we held hands at school, nobody said anything. People already assumed that I was gay, and you were open about everything from the moment you set foot in this town. When I was with you, nothing ever seemed as hard as it did before, but the clarity only lasted for a year. Sometimes I wished that someone would hassle us just so I could say that somebody noticed me, even if it was just in relation to you.

But you were so damn good. I couldn’t complain about anything because you were right there with me, and I will never forget that. I hope you haven’t, either.

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The first time we had an argument was backstage during Beauty and the Beast. I was a senior and you were a sophomore, and somehow me and everybody else knew that you were more mature than I could ever hope to be. You had your stars lined up in the sky. You knew you wanted to be a doctor. My dreams were quiet, since I didn’t get to talk about them a whole lot. But you’d let me speak, and you’d kiss me on the forehead when I rambled, saying how cute I was.

I ate that shit up.

I had ducks in different rows, and I was still keeping a secret from you. You still hadn’t figured out that I was the school mascot, and that’s why it hurt when you still joined in when your team tackled me to the ground at every game. My lips were sealed, anyway. I just wanted to be somebody. I knew my band wasn’t going to end up touring the world, and so I aimed for more realistic goals, like being a teacher.

And that night, I remember what started it – you were pulling on your Gaston wig as you said, “You know, you probably won’t be able to keep singin’ with High Fidelity forever. When do you think you’re gonna split with them?”

Your words made my heart splash into my stomach. I asked why you’d ask. You said it was on everyone’s mind. I said I didn’t know when I’d tell them I wanted to go to college. You said I’d better do it soon. I was really scared and just shrugged and said I’d do it soon.

And you, dressed up like Gaston, stared me down like a shotgun barrel and said, “I’m not saying you have to do it right away, I’m just saying it’s probably a good idea before you head off to college.” You kissed me on my cheek, on the scar I got from the baseball team hitting my mascot head when I was fourteen, and for a moment I felt like I was healed.

It was a band-aid.

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My senior year was a lot to take in. I was taking SATs and ACTs and filling out college applications and scholarships, since my parents weren’t paying for the bulk of whatever tuition I decided to go with. I ended up getting a full-ride scholarship to a private college right outside of town. I told you about it and you were so happy, you grabbed me by the hands and we danced in the hallway outside of your algebra class, and we kissed like there was mistletoe hanging over our heads.

The two years between us didn’t mean anything. I was already an adult and you were only sixteen, it didn’t faze me and it certainly didn’t occur to you as a pitfall. I was gonna be your college boyfriend. While you hung back and went to parties thrown by the homecoming queen, I’d be renting a single apartment on the edge of town and waiting up for you.

And I thought I was happy. It was the first time I felt pressure, and it was the first time I didn’t mind the pressure.

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You used to love it when I sang to you. You always said I was the best singer you ever knew, because apparently I had rhythm and tune and all of that good stuff, and on late nights I would take you out to bowling alleys and we’d pretend nobody else was there. I’d sing you songs while we sat on the curb, your head in my lap underneath neon lights, your freckles illuminated under cyan colors.

But there was a rough night near Christmas where I was driving you home from an okay date, and I was singing along to a Panic! At the Disco song on the radio. You turned the radio off and told me to stop singing. I didn’t question it. I just shut my mouth. It was the first time you ever told me to be quiet. I almost thought you were a stranger in that moment.

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I broke up with High Fidelity the January before I was set to graduate. They didn’t mind. They said they’d try to go on without a clean singer, but if it didn’t work out, then it wasn’t a huge loss to them. None of them had a set plan for the future. They were some of the nicest people I ever knew. If you weren’t there for me, they were. I think they were my first real friends.

The golf team gave me a black eye underneath the costume soon after that. I figured it was now or never, and I left the makeup at home for a day so you could see what you took part in for almost two years.

You asked me if my parents did it. I said no, and you asked if it was because of a bully. I said no, and you started to cry, and then so did I, and it was all a mess from there. I told you I was the idiot in the tiger mascot suit that everybody beat up because they didn’t know who it was, and you stopped crying immediately.

You jumped up from the bench and backed away from underneath the shade we were sitting under. You said I was lying to you. I said it was better for you to not know the truth. I said it wasn’t like I was cheating on you or anything like that, and you said it was exactly the same sort of thing. If I lied about one thing, that means I was lying about everything. If I was trying to protect myself despite letting myself be a general punching bag for almost two decades, then that meant I was perfectly capable of disguising everything else.

You said you were fucking worried about me. You said you saw bruises before, but you knew that I walked into poles when I laughed too hard, that I banged my shins on coffee tables all the time. But to put a cause to a face was just inconceivable. It was out of reach for you. It was too hard to handle, but it was my reality for four years.

You fucking told me that I’d be alone from that point on. And I believed you. You were a constant. You were the only person I poured my heart into. Nobody else ever gave me the fucking time of day, and then you turned off all the lights and sent me into night.

It was the first time I truly wanted to die.

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Your football coach noticed I was blue again. Your football coach asked me what was wrong. Your football coach didn’t flinch when I told him that I told you about my dumb secret that kept me from getting bruises outside of the costume. All that mattered was that I was okay. I almost threw in the towel. Almost let the costume rot in the corner for a few more months than it had to. Almost didn’t leave the house, almost didn’t wake up, almost lost every bit of everything that made me myself.

And saving myself took time. It took other people. It took a diploma, it took a full-ride scholarship and a strained relationship with everyone in my family except for my cousins. It took one-night stands with nice guys I met in the library on my college campus, upperclassmen who weren’t nearly as naïve as I was when I was the big fish.

It took a toll. It took a long time for me to say I was okay. You were all over our school, your name was in my face all the time, it was in my yearbook underneath your smug fucking face, the same face that told me I was special and told me I was destined for loneliness. Your name was only a few lines above mine in the pamphlet the theatre department gave out during our rendition of Twelfth Night. I only had to last a few months before I never had to see your fucking godawful face again.

And you never told anybody that I was the mascot. I guess I never thanked you for that, at least. Thanks. You fucked me up, but you were honest. I wish I could’ve been honest too. If you knew I was a way for sporty teenagers to release their anger, maybe we’d be in different places right now.

For the first time, I could take baby steps and start moving forward.

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The first time I drank so much that I passed out was a pathetic and shitty night on my own. It was a Friday night in my second semester of college. I had applied for an internship opportunity at my college that would let me shadow a drama teacher, since I was aiming for a career in theatre education.

I got an email that said, “Congratulations!” and then went on to tell me I’d be teaching at my alma mater.

I don’t even drink that much. But because of you, I used my fake ID (that you got for me) to buy a bottle of whiskey from the corner store. And I drank until it hurt, until the pain became numbness. Until it all burned away. I couldn’t afford to say no.

(That’s not the first time that’s happened to me.)

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I realized why I had gone down that career path shortly after the school year started. Some kids recognized me; I was young enough to know my way around the place and I was still young enough to remember some names – freshman that I tried to pal around with in-between lines, sophomores that I tried to talk to during dress rehearsals. People would call me by my first name. They’d ask me questions before they went to the main drama teachers.

And it was exactly what I wanted. It was the first time I had seen it all in action, and it was the first time I truly realized what I was meant to do. I was meant to be around people who wanted to channel their passion.

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I hoped you had moved far away. I thought that maybe you graduated early and zoomed away to some college in another state. I was spoiled by high hopes, anyway. I didn’t want to see you as a senior and walk up to me just to cuss me out or whatever.

But I caught you staring one day as the drama club started to set up props outside of the auditorium.

You didn’t look any different. You still looked young with your freckles and red hair, and the soft smile on your face was just fucking misleading. I didn’t trust you. And you probably didn’t trust me either, but at least I had a reason not to trust you. I was probably giving you the stinkeye.

You waved anyway. Out of courtesy, I awkwardly waved back.

The first thing you said to me after the gap was, “Are you teaching here?”

I said I was just interning. You said it was the same thing. I shrugged and said it was a way to make money at least. You said you were glad I was sticking to my goals. I said I was glad too. And then you had to run off to football practice, but not before you said we should hang out sometime soon.

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You took me out to dinner just as I was settling back into my goddamn high school and my sophomore year of college. And I didn’t need that. I didn’t need you. I didn’t want you hanging over my head again when it took so long to scrub you out of my fucking brain. Listen, there was somebody else in my shoes. A freshman was taking the same dive I did. She wanted to be the mascot and keep it a secret just like I did. I had to make sure she was taking careful steps. I didn’t want anybody to make the same mistake I did. I didn’t want her to have a you because nobody fucking deserves that. I didn’t even deserve that. And it took a long time for me to realize that.

And you know what? I made my first friend since you. I had a friend who would listen to me on long drives home. I had a friend who put up with me for an hour a day. I had a friend who smiled at me. I didn’t have to fucking talk to myself in my apartment to sort out my thoughts anymore. I could ramble on about nothing just to organize myself, and it was okay. I was okay! I really was.

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You kissed me again on the night you invited me to a party at your house. I brought my best friend because I didn’t want to go alone. Maybe a part of me wanted to prove that I wasn’t alone like you thought I was. But she stumbled drunk and fell, and I ended up watching over her passed-out self to make sure she was alright for the night. I almost cried when I realized how vibrant you were in my head.

And you didn’t make matters any better when you walked into the guest room whisper-screaming about how you knew she was the mascot like I was, about how you thought I was “indoctrinating” her or whatever bullshit you were sold on. Part of me wanted you to shut the fuck up because I didn’t want to wake her up. Another part of me wanted to push you into the fucking wall and be done with you. I didn’t need you.

But somehow we kissed even though you were drunk, and somehow that led to more kisses hidden underneath canopies on our high-school campus. It led to you begging me to let you stay overnight at my apartment, even though I knew it wouldn’t end well. My high hopes were terrible. I’d let you in for the night and we’d be soaring.

It was the first time you apologized. Even after everything else rocked our world, even after my second year of college came to a close and I ended up on the dean’s list for the fourth time. You let me know that you regretted everything. And I said sorry too. I never meant to lie to you. I just never anticipated the consequences. I was always stupid in that way, I guess.

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We were bound to fall eventually.

It wasn’t in a terrible way, I guess. It was a letdown. You let me down easy. You said you were going out-of-state for college. A few months before that, you said you were offered a scholarship to the same school I went to, but I guess you didn’t take it, not that I was expecting you to. The clouds were fine when they lasted, anyway.

We weren’t meant to be anyway, I said. You asked me what I meant. I said you were more focused on facts and I was the dumb one always caught up in feelings, and I laughed while I said it. You said it wasn’t a bad thing that I wore my heart on my sleeve. I could’ve said that it was when I was with you, and that you were one reason why I was scared to show myself for so long after our breakup. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut. In fact, I teared up a little bit, and then you did the same. You wrapped your arms around me and I cried like an asshole into your shoulder because there was nothing I could do.

Everything was ending, but for the first time, I realized that it was out of my control. We were never on the same path. If we were, it would just be bad news for both of us. So I tried to move on again, even though our time together again was just so goddamn sweet compared to the hell I faced in high school.

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The first time I got really drunk in the company of someone else was halfway through my fifth semester. It was one of those days were I was missing you too badly for me to be alone. I called my best friend that afternoon and she was at my door in a matter of minutes. It was barely three in the afternoon and I was fucking trashed.

She wasn’t really put off by it. She could tell I was wasted. She was sixteen and I thought you were smart when you were sixteen, but she fucking blows you out of the water, man. She didn’t call me a piece of shit when I slurred through my woes. She handed me glasses of water and took my whiskey away, and when I pissed everything out, I had the worst headache on the planet and diarrhea from hell. She sat on the opposite side of my bathroom door and just listened to me cry.

If I had a younger sister, I wished that it would be her. If guardian angels existed, I think she was one of them. I think she even had a few of her own.

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And sometimes, I feel as good as I do as the first time I realized that I was okay. Things were going to work themselves out in the end. Even on rainy days, even on lonesome nights, there was still going to be another first in my future. And even if that first was going to turn sour and bite me in the ass, I knew that I could handle it, because I handled all of our moments.

The firsts, the lasts, and all of the in-betweens that came with it.