The First Encounter

The earliest memory I have of Lance is from the 7th grade (just about 15 years ago). I had a crush on him. He was always this huge, tower of a guy. My friend and I would write about him in this spiral that we had. We would write each other notes and pass it back and forth during class. Soo cool. The main purpose of this was to make sure we were on top of the gossip and find out who the other one liked. My answer always included about 3 boys, one of which was, guess who? Lance.

This same friend lived down the street from him and she would promise me that she would walk to his house and ask him about me. Whatever that meant! It was one of those things you didn't question. As long as he knew who I was, I didn't care. I'm not sure if she ever did; it's been so long I don't remember.

I do, however, remember walking down the hallway with another friend - let's call her Dooshbag (a derogatory name reminiscent of middle school) - and Lance was walking in front of us. Dooshbag proceeded to yell out his name, "Hey Lance! You know she likes you!" 'She' meaning me. I could have killed her. What a dooshbag! After this devastating embarrassment, he casually turned around, looked at me, snickered, and turned away. I was mortified.

Middle school flew by in a stream of crushes and boyfriends and kissing lessons from friends who had never kissed anyone. But you listened just in case they were right. And while you read this, you may feel sad for me because I am about to tell you that none of those lessons were to be used on Lance. At least not in middle school.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .