"The first and only time I told a boy I loved him, I said it, then ran away. I don't know why I did that for certain – neither the telling nor the running – but I've only regretted the running part ever since. I had liked this boy since kindergarten, and I'd known he liked me back since 2nd Grade, so I think I told him that sunny last Friday in 5th Grade because middle school was on the horizon, and I didn't know what that would or could mean for us. But, after I said it, I ran. And I didn't stop when he called after me. I didn't look back, even though my friends later reported that he chased me for a ways before he gave up. I avoided him all that day but got cornered in the gymnasium at the end of the day, once school was over. He said he liked me back. I think we smiled. Then, without a further word, we found our respective places in the busing lines. When middle school followed that Fall, we never acknowledged what we both now knew, and soon, I didn't know him at all. But I sometimes think about the boy I loved so deeply – the one I still consider my first true love. Often, I wonder if he remembers that day at all."
- Alexis Aulepp (a 5-minute in-class writing, 2/13/20)
HOPE AND HEARTBREAK
Photo courtesy of Alexis & the Aulepp family. Taken August 2003 while playing dress-up. From left: Alexis (5), Alexis' brother (almost 3)
by Alexis Aulepp
I don’t want your pity. And I know how that sounds.
I don’t want your judgment, either. And I know how that sounds, too.
I just want you to listen... to understand that my experience is probably different from your own... and to learn what you can without reading too much into what is or isn’t written.
***
It has come to my understanding over the years that my experience is different from most. Or, at least, it’s different from what society seems to think is normal.
But what is normal, anyway?
(And who's to say you can't see yourself in this shattered mirror, after all?)
***
If my life were to be made into a movie, I envision this beginning part being the backstory of a romantic comedy.
The writers would have to convince you that the plot is about to change, though – that the odd girl who has never dated anyone, never been kissed, never had a sexual encounter of any kind is about to have her world rocked by Mr. Hollywood in the cheesiest, most predictable rom-com you’ve ever seen.
Otherwise, no director would touch it. None of this would make any sense. Everything would seem too... boring.
Somehow, then, the director would have to spin it. If not a rom-com, maybe a drama. Something dark. Something about pain and loneliness. Something raw.
A closeup on the tearstained face. Second after second of heavy silence. And lots... and lots... of unexplained waiting.
But it wouldn’t fly. I’m telling you, it just wouldn’t fly. After a while, even the audience would lose track of what they were waiting for.
***
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On several occasions, I’ve reached the point where I can’t stand to watch another rom-com.
On more than one occasion, I haven’t allowed myself to.
More often than you’d think, the thought of watching a rom-com has brought tears to my eyes.
Somehow, I don’t think tears are the intended response to seeing the movie poster of Letters to Juliet.
***
When I think about love, I try not to think about loss.
Or, more accurately, lack.
But trying not to think about the pink elephant only makes the task impossible.
***
My favorite book is The Hunger Games.
I’ve always known that it’s because Katniss and I have a lot in common.
It took me longer to recognize that Peeta and I do, too.
***
God never promised me a husband. Or motherhood.
People did.
I didn’t accept that “when you get married” could be “if you get married” until college. It wasn’t until then that people started using the latter phrase instead of the former.
It was the first time in my life that people genuinely questioned the narrative that all little girls grow up to get married and be mothers.
It was the first time people genuinely questioned whether or not I would be one of them.
***
I don’t know precisely when my extended family stopped asking if I "[had] a boyfriend yet."
***
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I’m afraid to ask my immediate family why they’ve stopped asking if I’m dating anyone currently.
***
I will never forget my dying grandmother telling sixteen-year-old-me I’d better "hurry up and start dating soon" because she wanted to go to my wedding before she died and she "[wasn’t] getting any younger."
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***
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My immediate reaction to that selfish remark was indignation.
Now, oddly enough, I find some consolation in the idea that she might not have missed anything, after all.
***
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But I still wonder.
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(Of course) I still wonder(!)
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The questions have haunted me for years...
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***
The first and only time a boy genuinely asked me out, I said I had to think about it.
This was a lie.
Or, at least, a half-truth.
I already knew that my answer was no. What I had to think about was how to tell him no.
That, and whether or not I was the kind of person who could say yes, if only to finally see what it was like to be dating someone.
But this, too, was a lie. To myself. It required very little thought to know that I could never do that to him.
Or to me.
(In my confusion, I fear I did not let him down as gently as I intended.)
***
(When someone says something along the lines of it’s not you, it’s me, sometimes, they mean it.)
(Sometimes, they don’t.)
(Sometimes, they don’t know what the heck they mean.)
***
I was in college when that happened. I had suspected that he liked me and hoped he would never bring it up, but he did.
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He did, and it forced me to confront the thoughts in my head and the feelings in my heart.
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It forced me to face my ideas about love, dating, and marriage.
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It was the first time in a long time that I didn't choose to run away.
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***
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I didn't love him like he loved me – or seemed to; I loved him like a friend.
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That's why I knew it would never work, why it wouldn't be fair to either of us to force a relationship.
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He deserved someone who would love him back with the kind of love he felt toward me – the kind of love that goes beyond friendship – and I deserved someone who I could love, too – not just be loved by.
***
At the time, it felt like an impossible request, a lofty (and possibly unattainable) goal.
But I know it can be done. I know that kind of love is real.
I’ve felt it.
(I’m wary of it.)
***
The first and only time I told a boy I loved him, I said it, then ran away.
It was during recess when we were eleven.
We were sitting on a small hill near a row of pine trees – far, far away from any other listening ears.
It was sunny. Either May or June. I think I wore pink.
The pressure should have been off; I already knew he liked me back – but that didn’t stop the nerves. It didn’t calm my galloping heart.
It didn’t do a thing to prevent the silence that followed my hastily given speech.
So, after I said it, I ran away.
Fast.
And it’s felt like a metaphor ever since.
***
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(Do you understand now?)
(Have you seen yourself yet...?)
(...or is this mirror too far fractured to be of use to any of us?)
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***
This is where we compare my story to a heart...
***
This is where we compare my heart to anything we want...
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***
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This is where I write poetry about love, knowing full-well that my knowledge on the subject is limited.
***
Every once in a while, there is an odd poetry to be found in the happenstance of life.
For example, I was once told by an elderly woman at my cousin’s baby shower that I was beautiful and that I had great “birthing hips.”
Beyond the compliment, I didn’t know what that meant, exactly. I’m still not 100% sure that I do.
However, I've had time to mull it over, since that day, and this encounter that once bemused me now reads somewhat differently from the time when it first happened.
I have thought to myself, ironically, on more than one occasion: What a shame it's going to be, years from now, to have let these great “birthing hips” go to waste...
***
What would you say if I told you I’ve already picked out the baby names of the children I may never have?
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***
What would you say if you knew I’d written fifty-two letters to a “future husband” who might not exist?
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***
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Would those responses be the same thing?
Why might they be different?
***
When one of my best friends talks so casually about the time in the future when we will be married and have kids of our own, I struggle to keep my face blank.
I struggle to keep my polite smile from waxing into a grimace.
I marvel at how certain she can be of a future I am far from certain of.
***
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Hello. My name’s Alexis, and I’ve got no idea how to tell anyone that what God has planned for my life might not be what any of the rest of us have planned.
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***
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Patience, my love. Good things come to those who wait...
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***
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By this point in my life, I have learned the patience of waiting up for a love that’s not coming home, a door that does not open, a door that may never open again.
At what point do you get up from the couch, turn off the lamp, and go to bed?
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***
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For many years, such a thing felt like a death sentence.
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The death of a marriage dream... The death of a wedding day... The death of having someone to hold me in the middle of the night – after the nightmares leave me shaken – no matter how old I might become...
The death of announcing to my parents that I'm pregnant... The death of feeling the baby kick... The death of seeing my own flesh and blood, face-to-face...
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It felt like the death of dreams I didn't even realize I had until all the TV screens of my predicted future static-fuzzed and faded to black, one by one.
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***
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Reaching the acceptance stage of grief is a relief, more than anything.
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It means the worst of the pain is over.
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It means each aftershock will only be a remnant of the initial earthquake.
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It means, with any luck, you can't be hurt quite as badly again.
***
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I don't know what the future holds, and I try not to pretend that I do.
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I know only that it will be okay...
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I will be okay.
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***
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A short list of reasons I know something's changed in my journey with singleness:
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1. When a friend talks about her boyfriend, I smile. Genuinely.
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2. When another friend announces she is pregnant, I am happy for her. Genuinely.
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3. When someone talks with me about our futures, I admit, readily, that I genuinely don't know if I'll get married or have kids, and that I'm finally near a place where that's okay.
***
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...and it will be.
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I know it will be.
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Trust me.
I do.
by Alexis Aulepp
