There is a story is about my first love. When I was in my first year of High School in Colombia (Instituto Pedagogico Nacional) there was a boy named Alberto Parra. He had a nickname that starts with the letter P (I am not giving any more details on his identity). He wasn't my boyfriend, but, we could sense that there was something between us. There was a period of time when our teacher sat him next to me in the front row. That was a memorable experience for me.
At times we wrote little notes to each other in during classes. When it was time for us to go home he would come with me to the main gate and in two or three occasions he walked me home. Once he held my hand to cross the street.
Because we were so young and we both were shy we could not move forward with a more serious relationship and besides we were kind of nervous about how our parents could react to it. But either way, the way he approached me, and talked to me led me feel special in spite of my deafness and I was the nerd of the class.
I don't remember exactly what happened, but the thing is that at the end of the school year, Alberto was transferred to a different school and I never heard from him again.
Unfortunately I don't have anything tangible that triggers this memory. It is all in my mind. I wish I saved something from him. But the memory of him is so vivid as if it happened recently. I remember his blonde hair and his cute face. The feeling of his hand holding mine when we crossed the street is still here. I can still feel my heart beating fast when I think of that moment. Honestly this feeling is pretty strong.
I am happy in my marriage. I love my husband to death, but when it comes to your first love, this is something that will stay in your heart forever. I often think of him and wonder where and how he is doing. I have tried to find him on the internet (My husband knows, by the way) without success.
I wish he is happy, doing good and in good health.
Signed, D., NJ (USA)
Thank you D. for sharing your story!