It has been sixteen years since that miserable February 11th when I was twelve. Still I notice every year and think of him, that one boyfriend that really sticks out.
As an adolescent I was extremely naive and innocent. And I absolutely loved roller skating. I felt completely relaxed and at home at the roller rink. There I was more social, tough to say because I was such a little social being anyway, and more confident than anywhere else in the world. I loved it. Loved skating forward, backward, twists, jumping, not jumps, just jumping, and music. Even now, those feelings come flooding back. Ahhh, to roller skate every Saturday night like in the old days.
One such roller skating adventure included a large group of junior high kids. I'm not sure if they were all from my school or not but there were so many kids my age, opposed to other nights when it was a grab bag of kids from ten to seventeen and older. This night I went with my best friend Lola. After a bit of skating for the fun of skating I started to notice those around me. This of course means, I began checking out the opposite sex. Immediately I noticed this guy. Blonde hair, darker at the roots, thin, happy and the kindest blue eyes you've ever seen. I pointed him out to Lola and we agreed he was the cutest guy there. I'm sure he was there with a friend too, but I can't remember his friend being around. It was like in the movies.
Picture it. He's skating in a crowd but there's light around him so he's all you notice. That's how it felt for me the first time I saw Kingsley. I only saw him. And I could only think about him. And then I was skating with him. Holding hands. Couples skate. I don't remember asking him, I don't think Lola asked him for me, but I remember him skating over and offering his hand for the couples skate. I can picture the rink, a large oval, closed around the back left quadrant with three openings around the front. One in the top right quadrant, one in the bottom left quadrant and one in the bottom right where I took Kingsley's hand and began our laps around the rink.
This was magic. Twelve year old magic. I saw. I desired. I received. Perfection to my seventh grade self.
We talked. I can't remember what we said. We went to the same school. He'd seen me before but never had the courage to talk to me before. He asked me out. With only a little hesitation I said yes. We were going out. Going out has different meanings to different people. For us this meant skating together, exclusively, talking on the phone, writing notes, holding hands in the halls, and planning after school get-togethers that never really promised follow through. We talked of kissing, but that never really happened. Maybe we were getting too close to kissing a few weeks later and that is why I broke up with him. Kingsley was my first boyfriend.
He was crushed and waited by my locker with notes; asking me out over and over. Finally after one especially thoughtful weekend I returned to school hoping he'd ask me again. I saw him during the day, but never mentioned it. Just waited. At the end of that day there was the note, requesting our getting back together. I was thrilled.
Planning to tell him in person the next day, Tuesday, I came to school and looked everywhere. I couldn't find him before school started, not unusual. Knowing I'd pass him in the hall before second hour I went to class. No luck again. Then it was time for second hour, gym. We were on the floor stretching when the loudspeaker came on.
There had been an accident. Kingsley was gone. He'd been crossing the street, the previous evening, on his bike when the car going 45 mph had hit him. I couldn't believe it was real. He was twelve. Twelve year olds don't die, old people die. How could he be dead?! People get hit by cars all the time, they get hurt, they don't die.
There was a room if we wanted to go and talk or cry or just be around a group of Kingsley's friends. I went to class. 3rd hour, 4th hour, 5th hour and 6th hour. Then I rode the bus home, went to my room and cried. I stayed in there all day, night and the next day. That next evening was his funeral/memorial. My dad took my sister (step sister, one year older, went to the same school and must of filled my parents in on the situation, I know I never did) and me.
We went inside after some hesitancy from me. Moving to the coffin I looked inside, but it didn't look like Kingsley. He'd gotten a very different haircut over the weekend and it had been new on Monday. Then we left, I wanted to leave. We went home and I cried and cried.
That Friday after school we had our Valentine's Day Dance. Lola and I went but I was still so sad. I can remember just standing there, watching other couples dancing. It was so sad. I was so sad.
Parents have a really tough job. They have to know when to step in and when to step back. In this situation my parents did a great job. I needed to cry until I couldn't cry anymore.
February 11th. Wow. I can't believe it has been sixteen years. It was hard, but Kingsley's death prepared me for the next two deaths I had to experience, one two months later and the other three years later.
