First Crush

[Wayne L. Christensen]

I saw her for the first time sitting alone on a swing, both hands gently gripping the chains that supported either side of the swing, while she swung lazily back and forth a few feet at a time. I moved closer and stood at the swing next to hers and asked, “Is it okay if I sit here?”

She looked up with her dark lashes half covering her chocolate brown eyes and smiled. Her white teeth flashed at me and replied, “Yes.”

For a moment I could not move, as her eyes swallowed mine and for a moment I felt as if I were being engulfed in flames. My heart thudded slowly as it melted into my shoes and I could not move, so I stood there awkwardly gripping one chain in my right hand until she released me from my prison by looking down again. Pulling the swing under me as my knees began to wither, I sat down on the curved rubber that made up the seat of the swing.
Matching her pace on the swing for a moment, I glanced to the side, taking in the beauty of her shape masked by the pink plaid cotton blouse and denim jeans. Her black hair, thick and shiny, neatly combed back from her forehead flowed backwards until it hung just over her shoulders. Sweat flowed from my brow and a thought, or rather a desire came over me to comb my fingers through her hair and kiss her pink lipstick painted lips.

Drawing up some courage, my hands slipped on the chains in either hand from perspiration, and I asked, “What’s your name?” My which had been racing, melted as she looked up and captured my eyes, then looked down again. I could see her pink tongue, soft and delicate behind her white teeth, as she moved her lips to speak. “Paulina,” she said, and it sounded like the prettiest, most exotic name that I had ever heard one named, almost like it came right from Heaven.

I started to tell her my name, but she said, “I already know yours,” and then said my name with the accent in her voice, which seemed to make everything sparkle around me, and I blushed with the pleasure I felt, that she had already cared enough to ask others what my name was.

“You have beautiful blue eyes,” she said. Where I responded by having the grace to first blink, then blush and then stammer, “Y-y-you have beautiful eyes too.” I didn’t need a mirror to know my cheeks had turned crimson, as she giggled at my response. For the briefest moment I felt stupid and shy, not knowing what to say. The air thick with my awkwardness and I felt as if I were choking on the air around me and I fought down the urge to leap up and run away. I let go of the chain of the swing with my right hand. My knuckles, white from the grip I’d had on the chain
flushed red as the blood raced back in, mirrored the color of my cheeks.

As if to stop my flight and shouted hurried good-bye, Paulina reached out and grasped my hand and held it gently, and smiled to let me know it was okay, and said, “Lets just sit here and swing for awhile.” Already, lost to her touch, I glowed inside while we rocked gently back and forth warmed to the presence of each other until the bell rang and beckoned us back into the school which both separated us and brought us together.

It’s funny, now as I think back through all the time that has passed by, how she was only in the fourth grade at the time and I was in the sixth and considered very mature for my age. She was already a young woman, and I still a boy.