Three Crushes and Me

What’s the point of remembering?

A stick figure human hangs from the bottom of a heart
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
  1. Steve. Freshman year of college. A poultry science major who roomed with a high school classmate of mine. The energy of us formed the moment said roommate/classmate made the introductions. I kept calling; he kept answering. Eventually I began to wonder, Why doesn’t he call me? and stopped. The last I heard of him I was at the movies with two friends. They were outside the bathroom; I was in it. He passed by, asked what had happened to Ashley. “What happened to you?” they said.
  2. Aaron. Sophomore year of college, “the hot guy from biology.” The first time our hands touched were were walking into class and he reached out with a piece of Trident gum. He introduced me to camping and hiking, dive bars and self-confidence. We went to a courthouse and got married, have raised each other, are raising two kids too.
  1. Me. Freshman year of college. Biology major, pre-med. Went to class but didn’t study much because I was in the room across the hall with my girlfriends talking about boys mostly. There were plenty of them, and I even spent time with one a year older who’d been known in high school for his parties, one of which my friends and I had once cruised by, curious on a Saturday night.
  2. Me. Sophomore year of college. I met Aaron at the beginning of spring semester, just after I moved into my first apartment. My ex-boyfriend lived in the same building and occasionally we still had sex. I mean, when he wanted to and I didn’t say no. (I never said no until the first, final, and everlasting no.) I remember the day he told me he’d started seeing a girl named Erin. After we hung up I called him right back. “I’ve got an Aaron too,” I said. “Not yet, but he will be mine.”

Writer. Wilderness lover. Worldschooling mother. Certified coach helping moms manage anger.

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