There's A Whole Box of Cigars
The most gripping fear of first love is its finality. One day it, like a sunset or storm, shall end. There are exceptions, of course—tales of young lovers who shrink and hunch until they become each other's old lovers. Soul mates from age 17. But typically first love does not last. An eternity becomes yesterday.
A friend of mine once told me, “Don't think about it ending.” She and her first love enchanted each other their sophomore year of high school. He was the type of rebellious teenage heartthrob who excited a Christian girl like her. Someone reserved yet secretly eager to puff on a cigar in nothing but a pair of Hanes Her Way.
The relationship came to a close at the end of their junior year when it hit my friend that, while she had plans for college, her beau did not. Even if he had wanted to attend a four-year school, he lacked the grades, test scores, and money to do so. All of a sudden, my friend realized how different their priorities and philosophies were.
By the time my friend told me her story, she was pursuing someone else. A few years had passed since her Danny and Sandy days. The loyalty she had once harbored for her first love had faded. He was a memory, not an idol or a human being. Just a memory.
First love is an apple waiting to fall from the tree—and trees do not grow on the moon. Maybe a flock of doves will swoop down and pluck the apple before it falls, bringing it closer and closer to the stars on a perfect, balmy evening. But, more than likely, that apple will fall and hit an unlucky worm on the head.
It's a sad thought, yes. Yet you needn't dwell on it. Comfort yourself with the moment you have now: the full box of cigars, staring each other down in your Fruit of the Looms, maybe with “Grease” playing in the background.
Don't think about it ending.