It's been nearly 30 years, but I still remember my first slow dance. We were at sleepaway camp, very young and very much in puppy love. His name was Freddy. I remember that we were exactly the same height. When we danced no one could easily put their head on the other one's shoulder so we danced cheek to cheek. To say danced is of course a gross overstatement, in actual fact we sort of stood still and gently swayed to the music, all the while sure that something this special had never happened to any other couple throughout the ages. Surely what we felt was more, was deeper, was stronger. How dare they say it was puppy love! We cared deeply about each other, the mere act of dancing together in public was a clear declaration of that, nevermind the magical first kiss we shared later that same night when we snuck down to the beach. It was a pure, innocent love, and we knew it was strong.
So strong in fact that it lasted a whole 2 weeks, and then my session at camp ended and I had to leave my true love behind. Sure we'd be together forever, ready to rush into each other's arms when we were reunited the next summer, I wrote him long, gushing letters the way only a preteen girl can, complete with smileys over the eyes and even S.W.A.K. - Sealed With A Kiss. Mere distance wouldn't stand in the face of true love.
Sadly, while distance may not have stood in the way of true love, teasing did. Freddy's friends had a field day with those letters, and his deep and undying love died an instantaneous and public death. By the following summer we couldn't even look each other in the eye.
I was sure I'd never love again and pined terribly for my lost dreams - for all of 2 days, until I met David. He won me over with his freckles and his funny Boston accent and showed me that kissing a boy with braces could be quite nice in fact. Best of all, when we danced - my head rested squarely on his shoulder. We fit together and all was right with my world. For the next few weeks anyway. Young love is nothing if not fickle...
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