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juushikaI met Devon when I was a sophomore in high school. My social group hung out in front of the auditorium, and for reasons I can't remember he began to do so as well. I was dating someone else at the time, and then broke up with him to date my ex-boyfriend from freshman year, and then broke up with him—and by the end of the year, I was fostering an embarrassing, immature crush on Devon. He was, at the time, gloriously arrogant (although he would probably disagree with me on that): he showed no interest and limited knowledge in what he didn't care about, but in what he did care about (which has always been computer science) he was over-educated and spoke so self-confidently that you were never sure if he was brilliant, or just bluffing very well as he pulled all of that tech-talk out of his ass.
I thought he was intriguing. I thought he was so intriguing that I spent the whole of the yearbook signing party (of course at the end of the year) jumping whenever I saw someone with a hairstyle similar to his because I was hoping it was Devon and I would get to see him again. It was the glorious giddy sort of high school crush where you don't expect anything to come of it, so you might as well enjoy it in its entirety. Over the summer that followed, however, I intentionally forgot about Devon and that crush. I wouldn't be seeing him for months, so it made no sense to think about him for months, and after a few weeks I'd put it behind me.
When school began again the next fall, any attempts to be over my crush were lost. I quickly fell back into my infatuation—and more, Devon seemed to notice me too, this time around. We had a class together, which is where he says he first became interested in me. After school, my social group used to ride my bus together and go walking, killing time before![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ishmael_ started work. Devon lived in the clear opposite direction, but started coming with us anyway, and we would wander aimlessly and talk. By way of our social group, Devon and I spent more and more time together. He found out I had a crush on him; I learned that he had a crush on me.
Just after winter break, while it was pouring rain and miserable out, the two of us went walking together after school. We talked about how we had no plans to date anyone, but how we were still attracted to each other. The sky was gray, I borrowed his raincoat and still got soaked through, and by the end of the afternoon we decided to go out on a few dates and see if there was something there worth breaking our own rules. On our first date, we went and saw The Recruit. On our second date, we went out to sushi. On January 31st, we decided to make the relationship "official." Considering we were still in high school, it was a fairly mature way of going about things. For Valentine's Day, he bought me the best chocolate I've ever had and a bouquet of carnations—because I love them, and don't much care for roses. At the end of the year, although we had originally decided not to, he took me to prom—I wore a black dress and a beaded shawl, he was uncomfortable in a tux and dress shoes. A few nights later, the morning after the senior all night party, we sat in the back of a friend's car while we waited him to come back from an errand. Neither of us had slept. I told him that I kept thinking it, but felt like I wasn't supposed to say it: I loved him.
At the end of summer, we broke up. I was going off to school in Washington, and neither of us wanted to begin the next phase of our lives feeling tied down—we were afraid it would keep us from enjoying and engaging in our future and make us resent each other. The breakup was excruciating for both of us, but we went through with it and I went to Whitman single. We stayed in constant contact, and what we felt for each other never faded. It was painful to pretend otherwise.
That October, Devon and two of his friends came to pick me up from Whitman to drive home for my sister's birthday. On the drive back up, our car broke down just outside of Pendleton, and we were stranded there for six hours while someone could drive up from home to rescue us. While sweating, hot, and miserable, stuck in the middle of nowhere, Devon and I talked and by the end of the day, we had gotten back together. It was unintentional and avoidable: we didn't know how not to be together, how not to touch, how not to love.
Although it was precisely what we had tried to avoid, we began a long distance relationship while I was at Whitman and he was back home. We ate up phone minutes, talked online, and he came up one a month so that we could spend the weekend together. Looking back on it, we decided to date the start of our relationship from January 31st, 2003—the day we began to consider ourselves a couple. We don't count the breakup as time off or a restart because, despite all the best intentions, the heart of our relationship never changed.
We've been dating five years, and so there is of course much more to the story of my relationship with Devon, butlupanotte wanted to know how we met and how we fell in love—and so there's that. I could have told it differently; goodness knows there are words enough. Walking back from our second date, night had fallen and the ground was slick with rain, and the liquid spread of reflected street lamps put us in a black and white photograph, the distance blurred under the shortest depth of the field. When we sat down to talk about the state of our fledging relationship, he told me to look him in the eyes and see his pupils dilate as he looked into mine—see there the passion and pleasure that he found in the sight of me, and know that he meant it when he said he wanted to be with me. When we broke up, I cried, curled fetal, on my bedroom floor, and I felt as if I had no skin, only a raw-lipped gash that I had ripped myself. When we were trapped in Pendleton, he gave me a shoulder massage and then I leaned back into him, a movement so natural that I did it without thinking, and he wrapped his arms around me, and I was at peace.
There are many, many words—but that is the start of the story.
I thought he was intriguing. I thought he was so intriguing that I spent the whole of the yearbook signing party (of course at the end of the year) jumping whenever I saw someone with a hairstyle similar to his because I was hoping it was Devon and I would get to see him again. It was the glorious giddy sort of high school crush where you don't expect anything to come of it, so you might as well enjoy it in its entirety. Over the summer that followed, however, I intentionally forgot about Devon and that crush. I wouldn't be seeing him for months, so it made no sense to think about him for months, and after a few weeks I'd put it behind me.
When school began again the next fall, any attempts to be over my crush were lost. I quickly fell back into my infatuation—and more, Devon seemed to notice me too, this time around. We had a class together, which is where he says he first became interested in me. After school, my social group used to ride my bus together and go walking, killing time before
ishmael_ started work. Devon lived in the clear opposite direction, but started coming with us anyway, and we would wander aimlessly and talk. By way of our social group, Devon and I spent more and more time together. He found out I had a crush on him; I learned that he had a crush on me.Just after winter break, while it was pouring rain and miserable out, the two of us went walking together after school. We talked about how we had no plans to date anyone, but how we were still attracted to each other. The sky was gray, I borrowed his raincoat and still got soaked through, and by the end of the afternoon we decided to go out on a few dates and see if there was something there worth breaking our own rules. On our first date, we went and saw The Recruit. On our second date, we went out to sushi. On January 31st, we decided to make the relationship "official." Considering we were still in high school, it was a fairly mature way of going about things. For Valentine's Day, he bought me the best chocolate I've ever had and a bouquet of carnations—because I love them, and don't much care for roses. At the end of the year, although we had originally decided not to, he took me to prom—I wore a black dress and a beaded shawl, he was uncomfortable in a tux and dress shoes. A few nights later, the morning after the senior all night party, we sat in the back of a friend's car while we waited him to come back from an errand. Neither of us had slept. I told him that I kept thinking it, but felt like I wasn't supposed to say it: I loved him.
At the end of summer, we broke up. I was going off to school in Washington, and neither of us wanted to begin the next phase of our lives feeling tied down—we were afraid it would keep us from enjoying and engaging in our future and make us resent each other. The breakup was excruciating for both of us, but we went through with it and I went to Whitman single. We stayed in constant contact, and what we felt for each other never faded. It was painful to pretend otherwise.
That October, Devon and two of his friends came to pick me up from Whitman to drive home for my sister's birthday. On the drive back up, our car broke down just outside of Pendleton, and we were stranded there for six hours while someone could drive up from home to rescue us. While sweating, hot, and miserable, stuck in the middle of nowhere, Devon and I talked and by the end of the day, we had gotten back together. It was unintentional and avoidable: we didn't know how not to be together, how not to touch, how not to love.
Although it was precisely what we had tried to avoid, we began a long distance relationship while I was at Whitman and he was back home. We ate up phone minutes, talked online, and he came up one a month so that we could spend the weekend together. Looking back on it, we decided to date the start of our relationship from January 31st, 2003—the day we began to consider ourselves a couple. We don't count the breakup as time off or a restart because, despite all the best intentions, the heart of our relationship never changed.
We've been dating five years, and so there is of course much more to the story of my relationship with Devon, but
lupanotte wanted to know how we met and how we fell in love—and so there's that. I could have told it differently; goodness knows there are words enough. Walking back from our second date, night had fallen and the ground was slick with rain, and the liquid spread of reflected street lamps put us in a black and white photograph, the distance blurred under the shortest depth of the field. When we sat down to talk about the state of our fledging relationship, he told me to look him in the eyes and see his pupils dilate as he looked into mine—see there the passion and pleasure that he found in the sight of me, and know that he meant it when he said he wanted to be with me. When we broke up, I cried, curled fetal, on my bedroom floor, and I felt as if I had no skin, only a raw-lipped gash that I had ripped myself. When we were trapped in Pendleton, he gave me a shoulder massage and then I leaned back into him, a movement so natural that I did it without thinking, and he wrapped his arms around me, and I was at peace.There are many, many words—but that is the start of the story.
