Jonathan, part 1

I believe in the power of stories. I've put off writing about the first significant relationship in my life for many reasons. First of all, it is sacred to me. The kind of sacred where I don't want to touch it for fear of making it any less beautiful than it was. Secondly, there is the pain. It's probably been at least 5 years since I've even seen him, but something about putting our story to paper is still painful for me.

I've written my own personal memoirs that have covered each significant relationship in my life except this one. But two things happened tonight. In a rare and bizarre moment, I missed him... someone I rarely think of who hasn't been a regular part of my life for the past 6 years. I also realized that the longer I wait to write about him, the more I risk burying precious and irreplaceable memories. For the record, no one who reads this blog should know him (um, does anyone really read this blog? That's beside the point.) So here it is, part one of what may be a two or three part story. I know this first part is short, but crap, I may be inspired but I'm tired.


I saw a TV commercial today that reminded me of him. It's for a new TV show, where people hire a man to search for long lost loves and relatives. I've thought before about what it would be like to see him after all of these years. I wonder if he's married by now and if he has any kids. He's like the opposite of the tin man; all he ever had was heart. It wouldn't surprise me to see him as a devoted husband and father. The role would fit him well.

Jonathan was the first significant man in my life besides my father. I was 14 and attending a youth group at a then brand-new youth center. He was the bassist for the worship band-- 16 and dorky and awkward and handsome all at once. He told someone he liked me one night. I remember he was wearing overalls. I went home and journaled my adolescent confusion.

Our friendship circles were the same and we began spending more time together. He gave me rides home from nights out with friends and even taught me how to drive with his parent's car. I connected with Jonathan more than I'd ever connected with anyone. We loved music together, we pretended to be rebellious together, we laughed together. We sat in my driveway in deep teenage conversation until my parents flashed the porch lights.

My love for Jonathan was only slightly more abundant than my confusion. I loved him, I knew that. But I knew that the way that he loved me was different.