Kix and me talked about our first boyfriends the other day. The very first ones. Not the first love but those boys who got the first kiss and were our first experience of being together with someone.
Kix was together with the towns bad boy. He lived in a home for problem juveniles. Everyone knew who he was. As she said:
– He wanted me. HE wanted ME. I was no one. Who was I to say no. So we dated. I hated kissing him and I thought ‘if this is it whats all the fuss about’. Finally I called him and broke up with him. He cried all day.
Me, I met Johan at confirmation camp. He was a sweet boy with a rubber tube in his neck. He serenaded me below my bedroom window and kissed like a washing machine. He also told me he would die if we ever broke up.
He would look at me with sad eyes when I walked off to call my parents.
– Don’t leave me, he would say. Don’t leave me here alone.
He was so angry at me every time he felt I didn’t care enough.
I didn’t understand more than that we definitely didn’t feel this the same way. He was sweet but I wouldn’t die if we broke up. I probably wouldn’t even care that much. I was 15 and we’d been together for 10 days.
Interesting is that today, 16 years later, I can see how those first relationships formed both Kix and me and how we see guys and our role toward them. Kix wants to save the lost ones. Until she met Robin she thought that was her role (and still does toward a lot of people in her life).
Me, I thought I could never feel as much as the other person. I never thought I would die if anyone broke up with me. I always knew my independence (yes, I want to call my parents alone) would disappoint the other. It haunted me and made me unable to see the truth. That I probably felt as much if not more than Johan, I just showed it differently.
Ja tank Cisslan, hur man liksom aldrig tappar sin egen trad. Puss