The Misinterpretation of Dreams

My dear friend Bridget McNulty has written what’s described as a “delightful” novel about love, called Strange Nervous Laughter, and to celebrate it’s launch in the big  US of A she has decided to name 15 May “International First Love Day.” I will not attempt to describe the novel, except to say, it’s like nothing you’ve read before. To find out more about it, check out her website: www.bridgetmcnulty.com. And you can get a bit of insight into the author by reading a piece I wrote in my little Dreaming of Greatness series: http://amandasaunders.blog.com/2008/3/.

Now let me pick my old brain about my personal experience of first love. I suppose in love, there are many firsts.
The first crush I remember having was when I was 7 years old!!! I started very early. I think I daydreamed a lot, I lived in my own world. I suppose I didn’t like the real world. I believed all of the fairytales: Cinderella, Snow White, etc. I was sure I would meet a knight in shining armour and live happily ever after. I didn’t think 7 was too young. Obviously I didn’t see myself as a mere child, I was always very serious and thought I was completely capable of being in love. I saw this boy on the school playground one day, I think he was a year younger than me. I thought he was the best looking boy around, so I went to the tuckshop and bought him a sticky pink fizzer sweet! I think I saw him once or twice after that, but I don’t really remember much else about him.

My first kiss was behind a broken down bus in the rain. We were teenagers doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing, so it  was all exciting and secretive leading up to the kiss, but when we eventually did kiss it wasn’t that great, his mouth tasted funny. I think we kissed once on another day after that and it was even worse, because all of the excitement was gone but the awkwardness was still there.

The first time I had sex was terrible. It wasn’t all about love as I had imagined it would be. It was just about physical desire. I suppose I did it, as many girls do, because I thought that if I didn’t the guy would lose interest. And of course I was curious about it. Afterwards I bled so much, I thought I was going to die. He got quite scared too, I passed out and he carried me to the shower and opened the cold water on me! I don’t remember much about the next day, but it definitely wasn’t all love and romance.

I think I’m not so comfortable commenting about love itself, because I have to admit that I’m not quite sure exactly what love is. Of course I’ve gone throught times when I thought I was in love, but at the moment I have lots of doubts about love. I don’t know if I’m capable of real love. Looking back I think that most of the time I’ve managed to mess up relationships or potential relationships. Mostly it’s by the things I say. But I think that’s part of who I am. I say the wrong thing at the wrong time, I put my foot in it all the time. I’m awkward and tactless and I don’t do well with innuendo and hints and suggestions.
I remember the best kiss I’ve ever had. It was at a birthday party and I was a bit drunk. It was an intense kiss. This particular boy, it was almost eerie, it was as if he could read my mind when he kissed me. When I pulled away from him it was just too much for me to deal with, I said something stupid to detract from the moment and the intensity of it all.
What if, like in the movies, I had said exactly the right words at that moment? Would the right music have started playing in the background at exactly the right volume? Would we have lived happily ever after?