Life Lessons in Love

On an early morning walk, I had a flash of a memory relating to my first high school crush. This is a topic that could have waited until Valentine’s Day, but summer can also be a time for romance. This remembered scene occurred during the summer. At summer band practice, to be exact.

Each year, our high school marching band gathered during the summer to practice music for the upcoming year, as well as marching in formation around the school parking lot. I played second trumpet while one of my friends sat in the flute section. To protect the innocent, I’ll call her “Flute.”

When we weren’t playing off-key or out of time, and getting chastised by the band director, or bumbling through the parking lot (and getting chastised by the band director), we had a few free moments to socialize with our bandmates.

During one of those social times, Flute confided in me that she had a crush on the first chair trumpet player. As fate would have it, my trumpet-playing crush sat next to him.

As a trumpeter myself, I had the fortune to sit directly behind my secret crush. At each practice, I gazed upon his coarse chocolate-brown hair that billowed from the sides of his head. Just because I sat behind him didn’t mean I hadn’t seen how his pale gray eyes sparkled or that the cutest dimple sprouted from one cheek whenever he grinned. In a word, I was smitten. An old-fashioned word for an old-fashioned memory. Flute felt just as spellbound by the other trumpeter. I knew that other trumpeter, which is probably why Flute came to me.

Out of kindness, I never told her that her crush once ran screaming when I chased him with a fat blue caterpillar I’d found in his yard. Of course, we were only seven at the time.

During breaks, Flute and I pined over those two boys. If only the universe would smile on us and turn the boys’ attention toward us. But alas, they didn’t know we existed and we were too shy to make ourselves known.

One day, “Clarinet,” a year older than us and worldly-wise, heard our laments and took pity on us. When she offered to explain the male psyche and how to nab a man, we eagerly listened and took notes. Her plan involved a simple, three-step process:

One – Act interested in everything the guy says;

Two – Pretend to like everything the guy likes; and

Three – Well … I can’t remember that one, but it must have been equally profound.

Clarinet didn’t stop there. Of course not. She had to show us exactly how the process worked. She then proceeded to demonstrate her scheme by … nabbing my secret crush.

When it happened, I took it personally. In hindsight, she probably chose my crush over Flute’s because mine was cuter. At least, I saw it that way.

When Clarinet stole my potential boyfriend, she didn’t ruin my life. For a few weeks, it probably felt like it. But over time, the sting lessened. Especially since her romance with my trumpeter didn’t last.

After high school, I never heard what happened to Clarinet, and I lost touch with Flute. I do, however, know what happened to my first crush.

He went to a college not far from the one I attended. I know this because he, surprisingly, wrote me a letter (this was before the Internet). We exchanged letters and met a few times. During the second half of sophomore year, we started to date. I won’t mention that I transferred to his college at the beginning of my junior year. Nobody should do that unless they’re sure they’ve found their soulmate. At that young age, though, how can you be sure you actually found your soulmate? Sometimes, you just get lucky.

In the end, Clarinet taught me a valuable lesson after all. No, not on how to steal a boyfriend. But how to keep one. It involves three simple steps:

One – DON’T act;

Two – DON’T pretend; and

Three – Well … I can’t remember what that was, but DON’T do that one either.

If you truly care about someone and want him/her to love you, you have to show that person the real you. For the relationship to work, the other person has to be just as open and just as real.

A few years into our marriage, I remember telling my husband, “Back in high school, you didn’t know I existed. You wouldn’t even give me the time of day.”

He glanced at his watch, then looked up. His light gray eyes sparkled, and his cheek dimpled as he replied, “5:43 PM.”