When I was 16, I fell in love. Not just in love, in Romeo and Juliet love. In Luke and Laura love. In Danny and Sandy love. In Edward and Bella love. In obsessive, dramatic, sick-to-your-stomach, teen aged love. The object of my affections was named Herbert (the names have been changed to protect the innocent.)
Herbert was a year a head of me. He had blond hair. He had beautiful blue eyes. He played tennis. He was preppy. He had his own car (a red GTI). I have no recollection of how we met. I can’t really even remember if we dated my sophomore year or my junior year. I think it must have been my junior year but that just doesn’t seem right. We went to the winter dance. We went to a few movies. We hung out. I think we played tennis. All in all our relationship could not have lasted more than 3 or 4 weeks. But that was enough for me. I was in completely, irrevocably in love with Herbert.
So what does a teenage girl in obsessive, dramatic, sick-to-your-stomach love do? I professed my love to him. Duh? I still remember the exact moment and the horrified look on his face. I thought that he would profess his love back to me. Why wouldn’t he? I was a cute 16 year-old with a convertible. I thought we would probably get married. We would live in a cute little house in Ukiah and I could look at him every day. Maybe we would get a puppy. Maybe even a kitten. What did normal teenage boy do? He bolted! Of course he bolted. What 16 year old boy wouldn’t bolt?
What ensued was at least a year of obsessive, dramatic, sick-to-my-stomach pining for Herbert. As with all great tragedies, the year was filled with one humiliation after another. The humiliation culminated where all great high school humiliation culminates. The prom. Herbert took another girl to the prom. And as a special form of cruelty, the kind that only exists in high school, Herbert’s prom date wore the exact same dress as I did at the prom. The exact same dress. Looking back the dress was cuter-than-cute and clearly showed excellent taste on the part of Herbert’s date. My 16 year old self didn't see it that way. I ran to my locker alone and burst into tears. I later pulled myself together and did what every humiliated, broken-hearted, teen-aged girl would do; I got by with a little help from my friends. My new friends Bartles and James that is. I had not met these two wonderful men before but I quickly learned that they were the best friends a 16 year old girl with mass produced prom dress could ever have.
I recovered from the prom but did not give up on Herbert. I fully expected him to see the tragic and ruinous mistake he had made and profess his love to me. Every time the phone rang, I knew it was going to be him. Of course, it never was. Herbert went off to college the next year. I faithfully wrote him letters and held out hope. He would certainly miss me and be terribly lonely as an adorable freshman guy at the number one party school in the country. Right? He had to have been thinking about me every minute of every day. I just knew this time apart would make him come to his senses. I waited expectantly for him to come home at Thanksgiving break only to be heartbroken. Again. Herbert did not return home to me but instead yet another cute 16 year old girl with a convertible. I will say one thing for Herbert; he had fantastic taste in 16 year old girls.
Eventually I got over Herbert. I quit listening to stupid Depeche Mode songs in the dark. I quit drowning my sorrows with Bartles and James. I picked up the pieces and moved on. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I did.
Looking back, my expectations were obviously unrealistic. Sixteen year old boys are, well 16 year old boys. But give me a break. I went to private school for middle school so I didn’t have that brutal crash course how to deal with the male of the species. I was unsophisticated. My training in love and the male species consisted of an unhealthy amount of Danielle Steele novels that I stole from my mother, countless hours of soap operas watched with my grandmother, and Charles and Diana’s wedding.
I thought love was always supposed to be reciprocated. To me, it was simple, if you loved someone, they would love you back. You would survive a series of tragedies and always find your way back to one another. When I got kidnapped by evil Niko Casadine, Herbert would save me. When my barn full of horses and kittens burned down, Herbert would rescue the horses and kittens and build me a new one. When I got stuck on the top of a snow-covered mountain in my cute puffy parka; Herbert would carry me down on his skis safely to the romantic lodge. It never once occurred to me, at age 16, that you could say “I love you” and not hear "I love you too."
So what is my point? Obviously, my point is never purchase a mass produced prom dress.
What is my other point? I do not regret professing my love to Herbert. The simple fact is I did love him. I really, really did. But it was 16 year old love. I would like to think that this kind of teenage love still happens in your 40s but it probably doesn’t. And let’s face it that is probably a good thing. Obsessive, dramatic, stomach-ache love is really truly miserable. As a grown up, I don’t think I would survive it. However, I think there is something to be said for the innocence of that Danielle Steele trained 16 year old girl. I am proud of her for saying what was in her heart.
Here’s to hoping. Here’s to being brave enough at age 16 to tell a boy how you feel. Here’s to being brave enough at any age to tell a boy how you feel. And, here’s to Herbert…wherever he is.
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