First Love and Heartbreak featuring Sarah Madison

       To say my first serious crush was hopeless is an understatement. I knew it, even at the time. I was fifteen and a sophomore in high school. He was eighteen and a senior about to graduate. I was in the very worst of my ugly-duckling phase (one that continued well into college, I’m sad to say), with Coke-bottle lenses and wild-masses of hair that was unfortunately permed. Richard, on the other hand, was Byronic-looking, with dark hair that flopped over his blue eyes in a heavy forelock, and cheekbones to die for. And talented—he as the leading actor in all the school plays, and I’ve always found talent hugely attractive. Ironically, he was the Dracula to my Wilhelmina, and I played her part with all the breathy, quivering naiveté of a young woman begging to be seduced. Let’s just say the role wasn’t a stretch for me.

      My friends, unable to miss the painfully obvious crush that I had, took me aside and tried to tell me I couldn’t have a crush on Richard.

      “I know,” I’d say sadly. “He’s graduating soon and going to L.A. to break into television.” I knew he’d make it, too. He was that good. I also knew there was no way someone as cool, and gorgeous, and wonderful as Richard would even look twice at me.

      My friends would exchange a funny look and try again. “No,” they’d say. “You don’t understand. You can’t have a crush on Richard.” Again with that odd emphasis on the word ‘can’t.’ Almost as if they meant ‘shouldn’t.’

      Still, I was too obtuse. Finally, one of my friends spelled it out. “Richard is gay.” She shared the information in a low voice with a quick look around to make sure no one could overhear.

      Oh! Oddly enough, I found it very comforting. I wasn’t being rejected for not being pretty enough or interesting enough. I was simply the wrong gender.

      It didn’t change how I felt about Richard. I still thought he was awesome and the sexiest thing on two legs, and I still knew he was out of my league, but now I could relax around him and enjoy his company because I knew it was never, ever going to happen, not even in my fantasies. Unbeknownst to me, my immediate acceptance of him, unusual in a community widely known for its Bible-thumping preachers and at a time when AIDS was becoming a household word, made me one of the Inner Circle. It never occurred to me to treat Richard any differently, and because of that, his friends became my friends. Never once did anyone hold my foolish crush up to me or make fun of me for it, either.

      Richard eventually graduated and moved on out of my life. The following year I developed a hopeless crush on Steve, a track star who could sing like an angel, and whose sandy-blond hair fell across his hazel eyes. Yep, I have a thing for hot guys with talent. So sue me.

      I have to say, I owe both of these guys a great deal. They were young, handsome, and had legions of girls fawning over them. They could have behaved like jerks to me, the homeliest one of the bunch, the one with the smallest chance ever of being their girlfriend. But they didn’t. They did me the honor of pretending they couldn’t tell I had a crush until long after the crush was over. Very cool, guys. Very cool.