(memory in threes)

1. First crush. He handed me a crayon and smiled. It was meant to be, at least until he moved up to the third grade.

The rush of kids was amazing. Scissors, crayons, and glue sticks were being tossed around like confetti. We were all smashed into a basement room for Sunday school, but it didn’t matter. Second-graders could have the thrill of a lifetime in a cardboard box. I saw Tim, who was vigorously coloring his picture of Jesus Feeding the Five Thousand, and waved. He handed me a blue violet crayon, and dropped his boyish smirk right into my lap.

2. First death. The maze of wires and tubes ran around my grandmother’s body. She opened her eyes once, then never again.

We walked into the room that smelled like antiseptic and felt like heartbreak. Nurses rushed around, sometimes stumbling into each other and murmuring soft “I’m sorrys”. My aunt was crying and holding onto my grandma’s pale hand. I felt an arm around my shoulder as I stared towards my grandmother’s rising and falling chest, only being kept alive by a beast of a machine.

They say the hardest part of death is the funeral.

But it’s not.

The hardest part is grabbing a cold hand that used to be full of life.

Turning away.

Leaving the room, knowing you won’t ever see the person again...

3. First heartbreak. He told me about his girlfriend during a marshmallow roasting session on a camping trip. I walked back to my tent and cried till I couldn’t see the stars anymore.

Casey had just finished plopping a marshmallow on his s’more when it all came crashing down into one emotional mess. “My girlfriend loves these…” he said while stuffing the whole dang concoction into his mouth.

I felt a ringing in my ears, “Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah!”, Casey grinned. “S’mores are her favorite. Bummer she didn’t come, huh?”

I felt an unfamiliar sinking in my chest as I rose to leave, more akin to that of being hit by a truck. Apparently the wonderfully adventurous seventh-grade escapades during the last three days of our multi-family camping trip had no effect on him (giant water balloon fights, river rafting, hikes into territory that clearly said “Do Not Trespass” but heck, we did it anyway…)

“Screw boys.” I groaned walking back to my tent.

I tried to look angry, but tears flooding down cheeks is usually a dead giveaway.