The First Girl I Loved
Longing, Humiliation, and Yellow Pajamas
When I was twelve, I was madly in love with my friend. I didn’t have the language for it back then, or all the answers, but sometimes, I thought she loved me too.
Let’s call her Heather. We were both in band; she played the flute, and I played the clarinet. We were both in advanced reading classes. She rode the same bus as me because we both lived on the same Air Force Base. There was only one bus that took kids from the base where we lived over to another base where we went to school. It was a white greyhound bus, not a regular yellow one like everyone else who arrived each morning rode.
She had large, pale green eyes, black hair almost long enough that she sat on it, and small, pink-rimmed glasses. She was about the same height and weight. She had a larger chest than me, though, which she loved to point out.
I had two online friends who were both female and in a relationship together. I never thought it was weird. I just knew I didn't know anyone else like them. When I told one of my friends about them, Ariella, she told me it was disgusting, and I should stop talking to them immediately. I didn't understand why she'd say that. Was it wrong?
I always felt so happy when I was with Heather. I wanted so badly to hold her and protect her from others. She didn't need much protecting, though. She was soft-spoken but also strong. She had a great sense of humor and liked comic books too. I felt jealous whenever she talked about her monstrous crushes on Toby Parker and Elijah Wood. I started to suspect then that maybe she wouldn't return my feelings, since awkward, short boys with pale eyes so preoccupied her heart.
Sometimes, though, I was so sure that she did like me. We'd scrunch down in the bus seats and put our knees on the back of the seat in front of us, feet hanging loose underneath. Whenever her right leg touched my left leg, my whole body was hot. A couple of times, she fell asleep next to me and with her head on my shoulder. Plus, she placed her head there before actually falling asleep! I was so sure this was evidence in my favor.
Ariella would even look at me with her face screwed up into a shape that seemed to say "Why are you sitting like that? Gross!"
When our friend Tabi (yes, the same one from this story) turned 13, she invited lots of us to her birthday party. It was a sleepover! I awkwardly waded my way through an evening of dancing to Linkin Park songs and 12–14-year-old kid chaos until it was finally time to sleep. It seemed like a hundred of us were lying on the ground in the dark, but it probably wasn't more than 10.
I was psyched and relieved that Heather had chosen to sleep right next to me. As things were settling down and folks were falling asleep, she said, "Madison, where are you? I want to cuddle!" I could've died from happiness. She wrapped her arms around me and spooned me. I could feel my bright red face in the dark, and I was sure everyone could hear my heart pounding out of my chest. I was wearing thick silk pajamas, yellow with blue stars that were not breathable at all. My adrenaline and the non-porous PJs made me start to sweat. Suddenly Heather jolted up and shouted "Madison, your butt is all wet! Did you pee?"
My soul left my body. "WHAT? NO! No, it's just hot in here. I'm hot. Sorry." The other kids stirred in confusion and worry that I had wet my sleeping bag. Tabi’s mom came in and turned the light on to see if everything was okay.
To my utter devastation, Heather turned away and didn't try to cuddle up again for the duration of the night. We never talked about it again.—not the cuddle, not the awkward moment. I doubt she ever saw the need to, even for an awkward laugh.
I don’t remember what was said the next morning, or how the party eventually came to a close. The feeling of someone turning away from me, however harmless it was to Heather, hurt for a long time. I think a lot about how longing can be simultaneously joyful and humiliating for queer kids. That feeling of someone not only not liking you “that way”, but maybe not even liking your whole “category” that way hits different. I still carry these little moments with me, but now I’m able to look back on them with a smile, and still, a hint of embarrassment.
Stupid pajamas.
If you enjoyed this, you may like these other recent posts:
Between Deaths — Chapter 1: A surreal serial short story, with a new episode each month.
Poem: Another Year: A reflection on friendship, distance, and quiet heartbreak
A New Mexico Summer’s Day in the 2000s: Another nostalgic piece about developing my queer teenage identity
Oh, ugh, these awkward moments. Hard to recover from, lol. Great story!