While talking with friends the other day, we recalled our experiences with love. It was interesting to note that many of us remembered the first time we ever said "I love you" to someone with crystal clarity. It got me thinking. And writing.

I remember the first time I fell in love. His name was Eric. This wasn't a silly schoolgirl crush. This was love. I'd known him for a year or two and had a crush on him at one point early on. Then, I moved on, figuring I was too young for him. After all, I was only about 14 when we first met, he was 5 years older than I was, and he dating a woman of — gasp! — 30.

We originally met one day while I was walking down to the local pool with a friend. Karyn (pronounced CAR-in) and I were going to hang out for the day, tanning and looking at boys. Eric, as it turned out, was Karyn's next door neighbor.

So, there he was out in his front yard, working on his VW Bug. It was old. It was blue. It was a wreck. And, it was really cool.

He was cute, with his headful of brown curls, goatee, and funny grin. It was summer. The sun always seemed to shine brightly. It seemed to shine even brighter on Eric. He said hello as I walked down the street. He was singing Jimmy Buffett songs and I started singing back. He was surprised that I knew who Buffett was. I smiled and laughed and told him I was a big fan.

"Cool," he said. "Are you just wandering the streets looking for random people listening to Jimmy or are you going somewhere?"

I told him I was headed over to Karyn's house. He looked at me, surprised. Turns out he thought I was older than I was. I told him I got that a lot. Might have had something to do with the Stevie Nicks hair, the big boobs, and the fact that I was smoking a cigarette. Yeah, I was a bad girl the minute I got halfway down the street and away from home. He told me that someone as *ahem* foxy as I was should be older. And, able to date. I didn't have a comeback for that one. This was new for me.

I scurried off to Karyn's house, red-faced and out of breath. I told Karyn about the encounter with Eric. We "oohed" and "aahed" in the way that teen girls usually do when they discover a new boy. Well, he was more than a boy, he was a MAN! Old enough, almost, to buy beer. (He was drinking it, just couldn't legally buy it.)

As time went on, Eric and I became good friends. Somewhere along the way, we started spending more time together. There were many days spent sitting on the gray brick retaining wall around his yard, talking. He showed me his foot with the missing big toe. It was missing because his dad had run over his foot with the lawnmower when he was younger. That was the first time he'd talked about his dad other than to tell me that his father had died. He got quiet after that for a bit and I wanted to reach out, hold him. But, as a girl too young, I lacked the finesse to do that without seeming shaky and completely inept. Instead, I sort of set my hand down between us on that wall and said I was sorry. When he reached over and placed his hand on top of mine, and thanked me for listening, I felt the greatest shock run through me. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before.