“She so reminds me of my first girlfriend,” my friend said.
“Really? In what grade?” I said, wondering how someone now could represent a memory so far gone.
“Sixth,” he said. ‘You never really forget the first person you date, do you?”
‘No, “ I replied. “I guess you don’t”.
I thought about it. Do I really remember much about my first boyfriend? Not much, surely. The more the thought sat there, the more it all came back, explaining so many choices after.
Ben. Lets call him Ben, just to give him a name. Actually that was his name, no use covering it up. I decided I liked Ben after he stood up and read a haiku to the class. Most in the sixth grade read soft poems about butterflies and falling leaves. Ben got up, gangly and towering, his hair falling over his face in a grown-out bowl. He smirked as he read “Cat”. It was about swinging a cat through the air by the tail and letting go. It was a disastrous poem, but so incredibly funny everyone started to howl. The teacher tried to explain the nature of a haiku but he blurted out “I followed the rules,” which got everyone laughing harder. So you did, she said. So you did.
It was the first time I’d ever seen anyone flaunt the rules in a teachers face and get away with it. It was rebellious, dangerous, and ridiculously funny. Here starts my love affair with bad boys, and all they represent. I was soon “going with” Ben, which meant, nothing, as far as I could tell. I had a friend tell a friend, who told Ben that I liked him, and then there was a repeated transaction of whisperings back, and that was it. We were an item.
One thing I remember about him was that his sister was always around. She seemed to idolize him a bit, and stuck to him like glue. This worked really well for me because then I wouldn’t have to be alone with him, and he wouldn’t try to kiss me, which I didn’t actually want to do. I just wanted to hang out with someone funny. Also, I was a dork. I was very awkward socially, and had no idea what to do with boys. This may surprise some of you now, but then, it was the truth. I’m convinced this is why teenagers drink, but that’s a while other story.
Ben brought me (and his sister) home from school one day and we went up to his room. “Hey, listen to this,” he said, and popped in a tape he had (secretly) recorded next to his parents TV when they were watching HBO. It was Eddie Murphy’s Raw and although it was funny, I was a bit freaked out by how funny he and his sister thought it was: I was busy being shocked by all the dick references, my Catholic ears still untrained to such things. I went on to learn that he also swore, snuck out at night, and did things like burn shit up in his parents grill. Why they didn’t notice mangled Barbie bits melted to their Hibachi I will never know. Were all boys like this? I had no idea. He seemed to go to great lengths to impress me, but I was most impressed by his sense of humor.
Summer came. We were at the same camp together and after about three days I realized Ben was not the one for me. I liked another kid, one less volatile. I told a friend to tell a friend who then told Ben… it was over. Apparently he wasn’t used to rejection because later that day, he steered his canoe over to mine and capsized it, pressing his oar down on the side until I flipped over. Coming up under the canoe I heard an amplified “bitch!” which I thought was kind of harsh, since, I had only really just ever walked around the block with him or to the corner store. It’s not like we were married, jeez. His sister scowled at me for the rest of the trip.
Much later in life we would be friends again. He came to stay for the weekend with a friend, back in the day where you loaned out your couch to just about anyone. She left early and I had to go to work, so I told Ben he’d have to move his VW Van before the landlady saw it. She was also the parking police for the office building next door, harassed us constantly over every little thing, and was generally an uptight nightmare. Sure enough, I found him still on the couch when I got home, his van still there.
“Ben”, I said. “Why didn’t you move your van?”
“Oh yeah, your landlady came over and told me to move it.”
“I told you she would. What did you say?”
Well, I just got out of the shower, so I only had a towel wrapped around me, and wasn’t really in the mood for it, you know? So I said, ‘I’m not moving my van right now,” and she said that I had to, so I said FUCK YOU, BITCH and then I let my towel drop, so…she backed away and she hasn’t been back since.”
I stared at him, silent. Why had I let this later incarnation of Ben stay at my house without supervision? Why did I think he’d be any different than he was at 11? I sighed. I was going to have to call her and explain that the naked man was my sixth grade boyfriend but really I didn’t know him all that well, and should have known better.
Secretly, I thought it was quite funny.
It confirmed for me yet again, it’s not really what you look like that makes me like you, it’s your willingness to break a few rules and make me laugh. So… thanks for that, Ben. It’s served me well over the years; I’ve found plenty of friends who fit that bill.