PARTS  ONE, TWO, THREE, & FOUR

From Crayons to Perfume

My First Love

 The July days had been steamy, hot, and muggy, making my mid-afternoon cool shower feel refreshing on my sunburned skin. Excited about going to a friend’s house for dinner, I wanted to wear my new black and white striped V-neck top with my new white shorts.  The new clothes were my mother’s attempt to have me look like a sweet young lady instead of a hard-playing baseball tomboy. Having turned fourteen just two months earlier, I found leaving my baseball days behind a bit painful.  I did have to admit I liked the new clothes and the white jeweled sandals purchased the same day Mom had dragged me shopping.  A year older than I, Judy always looked perfect in her summer wardrobe, and I had grown a bit envious.

Dinner wasn’t a special occasion, just a fun activity Judy and I enjoyed sharing with our families a few times a month. After dessert, Judy and I sat on her wooden porch swing, laughing as we made the springs and swing bounce with our lean, toned, relatively new pubescent bodies.

A clean, freshly washed and waxed older model, four-door blue Oldsmobile pulled up right in front of Judy’s house, and Judy whispered, “Bentley’s here.” I had heard Judy speak of Bentley several times but had not met him. Sixteen-year-old Bentley exited his car, headed up the sidewalk and onto the front porch. My senses were instantly on overload as I looked at Bentley’s football player physique; crisp, brightly-colored sporty clothing; dark tanned skin, and deep brown eyes that locked with mine before anyone spoke a word. I couldn’t breathe; I literally couldn’t breathe. And a strange but wonderful feeling had awakened in my stomach. What was I feeling? Butterflies? I’d heard about boys causing girls to have butterflies but had been clueless about their reality. But I felt giddy, excited, and warm and had never felt anything like it……butterflies!  Being so young, I had never had anything more than a playground boyfriend or roller-skating partner, but these butterflies told me this was no ordinary, handsome boy.

Judy introduced us, and the two of them then engaged in conversation while I tried to collect my swimming thoughts and feelings, still unable to take my eyes off Bentley. After their short conversation, Bentley announced, much to my dismay, that he needed to leave.  Turning to look at me, Bentley softly spoke with a flirty smile, telling me he had enjoyed meeting me, he thought I was cute, asked where I lived, and could he have my phone number.  I remember thinking, oh my god, I’m only fourteen, my parents won’t be too understanding about this situation! I was still trying to breathe; Judy laughed while providing Bentley with the information he requested. Consumed with being awash with emotions, I was enjoying this unexpected pleasure. Little did I know that I had just had a ‘by-chance’ meeting with a guy who would come in and out of my life for many years, each time leaving my heart with complex emotions of sadness and joy.

Within two weeks of our meeting, and after a few phone calls, Bentley and I intentionally encountered one another at a dance hall that sat on the shores of Lake Huron in our hometown.  After dancing a few dances, we left for a hand-in-hand walk on the beach.  We strolled along the shore barefooted, talking, laughing, and stopping to listen to the gentle lapping of the lake’s waves.  It was a perfect and glorious evening.  As moments of wordless air fell over us, he pulled me into him, wrapped his football playing arms around me, looked into my eyes, and asked if he could kiss me.  There was no need for permission, but I said, “Yes, of course.”  Placing his fingers under my chin and tilting my head just right, his soft lips met mine.  I melted. It was a tender, sweet, delicate, and very sensual first kiss. My knees shook. My heart pounded. As soon as our lips met, my whole body felt electrified. If this was what love felt like, I was in it.

PART TWO

Almost immediately, we began ‘seeing’ each other; it was my distinct understanding that ‘seeing’ each other did not equate with dating.  For, according to my parents, I was too young to date.  Dances, amusement parks, lunches, beach walks, matching shirts, and getting to know one another filled the remainder of our summer days and evenings. We spoke of what we each were considering for our futures. Being so young, I hadn’t given my adult days too much thought, but I began to do so. Talking was so comfortable and easy with him. He listened intently, asked questions, joked, and together we laughed often.

Summer passed much too quickly. Soon it was time to head back to school.  With hesitation, my parents allowed Bentley to pick me up for school each morning.  They gradually gave in to my ‘going out’ with him!  ‘Going out’ meant dating, and dating meant meeting my parent’s rules of Bentley driving to my house, coming inside to speak with my parents, and then bringing me to the door before curfew at the end of the evening.  I’m sure it was against their better judgment, but I was a feisty, determined young girl, and I suspect they knew I would have gone behind their backs to see him.  The lesser of the two evils was vigilant supervision, which I made anything but easy for them. Bentley and I definitely made one another a priority, planning how we could spend at least a few moments together daily.

Bentley was a mighty fine dancer; he knew every dance style, fast and slow, and all the right moves. My parents said I had been dancing since I learned to walk, so we thoroughly looked forward to the weekends and dancing.  Most couples chose “their song,” one they felt was meaningful for them. Bentley and I picked a hit by Ronnie Dove, “Say You,” and when we heard the first few notes, we hurried onto the dance floor!  I never imagined two people could be so close while dancing and still move in rhythm to the music.  With my head nuzzled into his broad chest, he would whisper in my ear and kiss my neck. Oh, how I wanted the songs never to end.  Those butterflies that electrified my entire being would instantly return whenever he got close to me.  It took me a few months to not feel nervous around him each time we met.  I blushed easily in his presence, it was out of my control, and he found a wee bit of humor and a lot of sweetness in that.

Bentley treated me like a princess.  I never paid for anything when we were together, and I would often find, in the back seat of his car, a new stuffed animal looking for a home. Birthdays, Christmas, Sweetest Day, and all the “love” holidays brought unique gifts from him.  Possessing a quick wit, he loved to tease me – about everything.  Because Bentley had a job, he had spending money; he’d often take me to the Dairy Queen after school. I’d eat a burger, fries, and an ice cream sundae. For that, with a wicked chuckle, he called me “Freddie the Freeloader.”

As Lulu sings in the song, “To Sir with Love,” Bentley had indeed taught me so much about life and love and had been the young man to take me from crayons to perfume. From gym socks to nylons. From tennis shoes to heels. I grew from a baseball-playing tomboy into a young lady who liked expensive dresses, purses, pretty shoes, makeup, mascara, and lipstick.  He was the boy who made me appreciate the anticipation of growing into a woman. The truth is, I learned more from Bentley about the birds and the bees than I learned in one semester of health classes.  Bentley showed an affectionate sensitivity toward me and was genuinely respectful in his behavior towards me – he was always a first-class gentleman.

I figured I’d marry him. I even started a “hope chest,” as was a customary step when in a serious relationship. I was quite young, so I didn’t have much in it, but it was a start. I was confident that was the direction in which we were moving.  We continued dating for several months, growing closer, going out to dinner on our first anniversary, him trying to give me driving lessons, and occasionally helping me with my homework. I loved to roller skate, and although he wasn’t interested in skating, he would come to the rink and patiently watch me.  Shortly after closing time, when he worked evenings at the gas station, I would watch out of my upstairs bedroom window and wave as he passed our house and blew his ooogah horn. Everyone within a half-mile knew Bentley was headed home after work!

PART THREE

Then came a day that my future planning changed drastically. To this day, I don’t know why. I can only guess. In the early spring of our second year, I broke up with him. I took his class ring to the gas station where he worked. I presume that I realized I was so young and wanted to explore other opportunities. If there is a reason beyond that, I don’t know what it is. I knew I loved him dearly, and I also knew I was leaving my best friend. It was a rough adjustment, I think for both of us, and an occasional twinge I’ve carried with me ever since.

The Christmas after we broke up, Bentley brought a beautiful pink sweater to me at the home of my grandparents. Our family was having our annual December 23 family gathering.  My grandmother told me someone was outside to see me. I was shocked to find Bentley in their driveway – he said, “Merry Christmas! I want you to have this gift.” I don’t even remember if I thanked him or if we had a quick kiss; I felt dazed. I loved that sweater and wore it often, keeping it as a memento for several years, well into my marriage.

Eventually, we both were able to move on with our lives. As first love often does, it forever changed us. I had grown into a more mature teenager and was looking forward to dating other guys. But, at the same time, I didn’t want him to date other girls. I knew, however, that that’s how things went.  Before too long, I was hanging on the arm of another football player. Then yet another football player. I became engaged before I turned eighteen, still a high school senior.  After high school graduation, I spent several months living and working in South Carolina.  I lived with a good friend, her mom, and her sister.  During this time, my fiancé was off fulfilling a military assignment.  One morning, my girlfriend’s mother and I were home together, just the two of us. I was very close to Merry Mary, as I called her. I worked up the courage to tell her I didn’t want to go back home and get married. We talked a long spell, and she left me with these words: “Well, for god’s sake, don’t get married if you don’t want to. You’ll be miserable.”  Within a few weeks, I was on my way back home. I intended to return to South Carolina within a month. I left behind many of my clothes and a job that would be waiting for me when I returned.

Fourteen days before the announced wedding date, I was back in my old bedroom, staying with my parents’ to await the return of my military man.  A surprise call came from Bentley, pleading with me to meet with him as he had something significant he wanted to talk over with me.  I agreed to see him, meeting on a secluded street where we’d often met just a few years before, not far from my family home. We went to a deserted gravel-pit to talk. The mission of his meeting with me quickly became apparent. He begged me not to get married. He said I was too young, too smart, should go to college, live life, work, do something, anything….except get married.

I told Bentley that I had come home from South Carolina to break off the engagement, was planning to do it in person instead of a Dear John letter. However, once home, I fell into that role of a dependent child, becoming confused and unsure of what I wanted to do with my life. How I wished Merry Mary had come home with me! In my heart, I knew I didn’t want to get married.  I felt guilty about all the money my parents had spent on the pending nuptials. Church and reception plans were in place; relatives had purchased plane tickets, Mom had mailed the invitations weeks ago, grandparents had new clothes, and a bridal shower was happening in a few days. I felt torn; unfortunately, I sensed more loyalty to my parents than I felt towards myself.

Before we left the gravel-pit that day, we kissed passionately for several minutes. My face was washed with tears. He held me close and tried to kiss away the tears. I only cried more. He told me that if I chose to be at the church on the day I was to get married, he would gladly play the role of Dustin Hoffman’s character from “The Graduate” and be waiting for me in the parking lot of the public library across the street from the church.  If I decided to back out of the wedding vows and run out of the church to freedom, he’d be there waiting, ready to save me from the mistake he was sure I would be making. Instead, I went through with the marriage that day; I became my fiancé’s wife.  I knew Bentley had driven by the church a few times during the ceremony. I knew I was still in love with him. I also knew I loved the man I had just married, but I was not in love with that man in the way a bride should be to become a wife. But I was now a married woman. It was a done deal.

As I began to live my new life, Bentley continued with his.  I was a bit saddened when I heard he got married and had a couple of children close in ages to mine. But what did I really expect?  I didn’t get back to my hometown too often, so our paths didn’t cross. Most of the time, I felt unfulfilled and unhappy as a wife. I adored my children and motherhood; that was my sweet reward. I often heard from friends that Bentley was married out of obligation, not love.  On a few rare occasions, I would see him around town when I was visiting my parents, but we never had the opportunity to talk at length.

Several years into my marriage, our youngest daughter, Lexi, died suddenly, within a matter of a few hours of becoming ill. It was heartbreaking beyond comprehension.  My husband and I returned to our hometown with our other children, Gretchen and Toby, for a graveside service and burial. Lexi was to be buried near my grandparents and next to the plots that belonged to my parents. While still at the cemetery, a close girlfriend got word to me that Bentley was aware of this tragic situation and grieved my loss with me.

At the time of our Lexi’s death, my marriage was not a stable union. It hadn’t been for more than a few years. I filed for divorce three months after Lexi’s death.  If there was one event that brought a sudden and clear perspective into the quality and value of each life, it was the death of my child.  I figured if I could bury a child whom I loved more than life itself, I could divorce a man I no longer felt loved or respected me.

PART FOUR (FINAL)

I began work at a college in the town where I lived with my two children.  I was within ninety minutes of my hometown, parents, and many friends. Late one morning, the staff secretary stuck her head into my office to announce I had a visitor. To my shock and astonishment, Bentley walked into my office. He took a seat at my desk, and I had to sit down – the butterflies, which by then I knew was pure chemistry, had come alive once again. Bentley sat nervously in the chair, fidgeting with objects on my desk, and told me he’d heard I was getting a divorce. I confirmed I was, and he asked if I needed anything, anything at all. He said he knew I had loving and supportive parents, but he wanted me to know that he still cared deeply for me and would do anything in the world to help me. Whatever I might need, I could call on him. With effort, he expressed sympathy for Lexi’s death and wondered how any parent survives such a loss. I looked at the handsome man seated across from me, studied his hands, his face, and those dark brown eyes. His face was so tender, his eyes reflecting the pain he felt for me. Bentley spoke his words sincerely, haltingly, and warmly, offering me deeply, sincere, generous support that I had not received from anyone other than my parents and a few girlfriends. I was emotional and profoundly touched.

As I sat reflecting on Bentley’s words, I realized silence filled my office; we smiled at one another, seemingly in disbelief that we were actually alone together for the first time in a long time. I wanted time to stop, kind of like on the dance floor; I wanted time to stand still. Bentley spoke, breaking the silence, sharing only a little about his family and job. I gave a summary of my life and my children.

As he was preparing to leave, Bentley stood for a moment before our eyes locked intensely, just as they had so many years before on that muggy summer day when we met. As he walked toward the door, I moved to embrace him; it felt divinely wonderful and familiar. Bentley turned to open the door but stopped, turning to face me. Looking intently at me, he confided that he had stood in a friend’s side yard across the street from the cemetery and watched the graveside services held for my child. Bentley watched me arrive and watched me during the service. He had seen me surrounded by family and friends and watched us depart the cemetery. He said he continued standing in the yard watching as the cemetery workers completed the burial of my precious child. Upon hearing this story and knowing how he felt about Lexi’s death, I cried. I wondered why I had ever told this sensitive being that our relationship was over. Our lives were now quite complicated. He was still married, and the years had no doubt changed both of us. Not that I didn’t have a few moments of thinking ……would it be possible to start over again?  Flashes of our past days together were playing like a video in my mind. I pictured the walks on the beach, the kisses, the time at the gravel pit, amusement parks, dances, all the laughter, quiet moments talking….so much flooded through my thoughts. But the reality was that I was no longer the naïve young girl I was when I married. Bentley had grown into a mature professional, husband, and father with many responsibilities.  As much as I may have wondered……reality had to rule.

This tender ebb and flow relationship is a beautiful, authentic story of first love that still produces powerful emotions within me.  Love stories end for many reasons, including immaturity and being incapable of dealing with extraordinary intense feelings at such a young age.  It has been more than thirty-seven years since Bentley walked into my college office with a heart full of generosity.  I have not seen him since that day.

We now have both been blessed with grandchildren.  I used to think the feelings that blossomed during love relationships wilted soon after the relationship ended.  A heart will remember the most touching and loving memories that were breathtaking and meaningful. I doubt Bentley’s love for me ever wholly left him, and I know my love for him did not wholly leave me, either.

If I close my eyes, I can hear Ronnie Dove singing, feel Bentley’s arms holding me ever so tightly as he guides me across the dance floor, smell his cologne, feel his breath on my neck, and know there is nothing that has diminished that dew-fresh, innocent experience of first love.

I would like Bentley to know what a treasure he was in my life. He taught me so much about passionately caring for another person, his selfless ways helped me find and hold onto my self-worth, and his numerous thoughtful and sincere gestures brought love, joy, and acceptance into my life. We shared a close bond, and I knew I wasn’t alone in the struggles I faced when we were together. Whether it was his athletic build or self-assured attitude, I always felt protected when I was with him. I want to thank the guy who took me through a period of growing up and maturing, for taking me from crayons to perfume, and for being my best friend during a significant maturation period in my life. I recognize how blessed I was to spend a few years with him.  His gifts, which included those made years after we dated, are often recalled.  They are warm memories and rich lessons, and my heart has them all stored.

© IAR 10/2020

IdgjyAnne Rickard