Somewhere between ages of 12 and 14, I got a hefty dose of confidence.

I became bold, vocal, boisterous and brazen. Particularly with boys.

Which was very ironic, because that was the height of my self-loathing.

I do think, under some light psychiatric counseling, I could find out what triggered this sense of false bravado; this unstoppable optimism that I was totally irresistible.

While I was ruled by this sad, profound feeling of being completely worthless, I blossomed, metaphorically, in spite of it. This sense of worthlessness drove me to the opposite extreme; pushing myself to prove I really was something more than the low life I knew I was.

It began with the story I am about to tell; slow and steady, then rendered me a relentless romantic for many years to come. For the balance of my hormonal years, namely 13-17, I went after boys like a waking bear from hibernation. Deliberate and tenacious – I solely focused on the task at hand, which was usually to sink my teeth in to getting what I needed to fulfill me (which, at the time, was affection).

Many good stories. Some bad. Not all worth telling. Some are. One in particular.

The first one.

Put on your freshman high school geek goggles, and this story will be even better.

His name was Dave. Ah Dave. Mullets were the hairstyle of the uber-cool back in the late 80’s and man was he so very ‘rad’. Long dirty blond hair down to the middle of his back. Short bangs that framed hypnotic blue eyes and dusted his freckled, albeit slight crooked nose. His mouth rocked this little tilted grin, as if he knew something he wasn’t letting anyone else in on. He had this iconic bounce in his step, a heel-to-toe thing that allowed you to spot him bopping around in any crowd he was walking in.

He was a GOD. A senior, a guitarist in a rock band, and so so popular. Girls hung on his every word. Come to think of it, boys did too. He was center of every circle he was in. He lit up every square inch of space near him.

He literally took my breath away. I was mesmerized by him.

I was a lowly freshman. Brand new to high school; tall, pimply, braces. I was also chubby and hid myself in the ugliest 80’s clothes available. I slouched to be the same height as everyone else, and I often kept my head down, but my eyes and my heart, were always on hyper alert. Nose often in a journal, I lived my life through the pages of my notebooks. It was safe there.

But my obsessions with Dave even overrode the time I spent on my own self depreciation. He literally centered my universe.

My romantic fantasies began early in the year; just thinking about him made me feel good – alive. The more I saw him, the better I felt.

So I started my research on how to come across his path as much as humanly possible. I studied his class and schedule. I was the first to leave my own class when the bell rang, so I could race to be in his line of walking. I knew who his friends were, where his locker was, where his friends’ lockers were! I knew where he parked his very cool mini-truck, I knew where he sat during breaks at school and that he left every day for lunch to sneak off campus.

I was the ultimate creeper, and he was totally clueless. Never even glanced at me. But that was OK, in my fantasies he was mine.

The school year went by, and I was obsessed. My best friend, Trisha, was just as romantic (or desperate) as I was, and she would brood, console and scheme with me to optimize my chances of bumping in to him whenever I could. Which was never – just me placing myself in a line of vision for me to stare at him was good enough to satisfy me.

But just for just a while. Towards the end of the school year, I became desperate and months of this sheer desperation wore my romantic heart down. I felt utterly compelled to do something. The thought of facing summer and not seeing him every day panicked me.  I needed Dave. He was my food, my sustenance – and I felt like I was constantly starving. Just LOOKING at him, didn’t fill me. I needed more.

I couldn’t find the nerve to introduce myself, let alone bump in to him in the hallway, so I knew I had to come up with something totally off the wall.

And it hit me..I’d be his secret admirer.

I’d give me, to him, secretly. And I’d accept the martyrdom that came with showcasing my love, knowing it would never, ever be acknowledged.

Trisha and I worked the whole thing out over a lunch break. It had begun. I was doing this.

Day one, sweet Trisha, snuck out during her first period and ran three roses along with a note, and stuck them under the windshield wiper of his car. I don’t recall the specific verbiage of the note but it was something to the effect of “I’ve had a crush on you all year – you are gorgeous”. Love your secret admirer.

We ditched fourth period (just before lunch when he was walking to his car) and hid behind the PE building near where his car was parked, We held our hands over our giggling mouths as we watched him curiously approach the flowers. He picked up and read the note, smirked and looked around shaking his head as he got in his car and drove off with a huge grin.

We did it! I felt exhilarated!

Game on!

Day Two. I bought a big fat Hershey’s kiss and wrote another little note out. I paid some kid $2 to go up and give it to him between classes and say it was yet another “gift from his secret admirer”. The boy told me after class, he was “really happy and that it was totally rad”….I was ecstatic.

Day three. I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Dearly beloved Trisha put them on his desk right before one of his classes started. Another note attached. She begged his teacher to keep mum and actually bumped in to him on the way out as he and his friends walked in. Fortunately, for us, he didn’t see her, and her cover wasn’t blown. The thrill of this was intoxicating.

Day four I was feeling bold. I bought a bunch of flowers and somehow talked our principle, yes, our principle, in to delivering them for me. And he did, right in the middle of Dave’s Spanish class!!  Looking back, what a cool principle. And what a brave move!

That was a Thursday.

This is where it gets good.

It was Friday morning, week of finals. I had just taken my first final and was in the quad with good ‘ol Trisha. I had another note and a small little chocolate guitar, which was to be my gift of the day – clutched in my hand, and we were sorting out how to get it to him.

Then I see him.

Dave.

Behind her.

Walking straight towards us.

He gets closer and closer, and I lose all ability to speak, move or even blink.

My eyes are fixed on him, and he shockingly, is equally fixed on me as he gets closer and closer.

Time stood still and I remember Trisha asking me what was wrong with me, about the same time Dave was now right behind us, staring over her shoulder, at me.

“Oh shit….” she mumbled for us both.

I was still frozen. Staring in to those eyes, now no more than a foot from my own.

Then Dave, still totally focused on me (ME!),  smirks, and wags his sculpted gorgeous guitar-picking finger in my face and says “Kristin Kristin Kristin” (mimicking a tsk tsk tsk sort of sound)…

I pee my pants a little. Still frozen. Totally completely unable to move.

He then leans in, kisses my cheek, hands ME a note, and whispers to me, “You totally made my week”.

I am still, utterly silent as he smirks, and bops away.

The chocolate guitar in my hand is now melted in my clenched fist.

Trisha and I, we just stand there, both, silent. Until he got out of site, then we start jumping up and down and grabbing one another and screaming.

“Read the note Read the note!!!” was all she could yell as she tore at my shaking hands to read it for herself.

So I did.

And I died a little.

Turns out that boy I had paid $2 to deliver the Hershey’s Kiss was a total band geek, and Dave was a God to him too. That Friday morning, during their music class, that little geek found  enough of his own bravado to approach Dave and tell him he knew who his Secret Admirer was. I didn’t know the kid well, but well enough for him to know my name was Kristin and as he and Dave left music class that day, I happened to be right there in the Quad.

Fate.

Dave wrote in his note to me,  that this week was the best week of his life. He went on to say he was so flattered, and touched, that someone went through so much trouble for him.

He said I was remarkable. What senior calls a dumb freshman remarkable? DAVE DID!!!

He included his phone number, and told me to call him, so we could GO OUT THAT WEEKEND!!!!

Wait, it keeps getting better.

I don’t remember how, but we ended up back at Trisha’s and it took me about 6 hours to get up the nerve to call him.

But I did – and we talked!

I was actually able to breath, and carry on a conversation with HIM! This popular, gorgeous amazing senior was actually sweet and kind and funny-  and seemed to like talking to me!!!

Turned out, he lived not too far from Trisha.

Turned out I was spending the night at Trisha’s house that night.

Turned out, her mom was very, very out of touch and let her do whatever the hell she wanted.

Turned out, there was this big, big party not too far away, that Dave and his friends happened to be going to.

And turned out, he asked me to go.

Trisha came along with the package, but that was just fine because so did his friend.

Funny how I remember bits and pieces of that night, but what I do remember I recall in vivid detail. I recall what I wore (black mini skirt and a red sweater), how my hair looked (bangs up to about 7″), and more important, how I felt (alive, confident, powerful!).

I was intoxicated with joy; drunk with a confidence I had never felt before. I was so centered and focused.  I was ready for this, I was ready for Dave.

He pulled up in his mini-truck, walked out and embraced me in a huge hug, planting another sweet kiss on my cheek. He walked with his hand on my back, as he led me to, and opened his car door for me. I was Cinderella. This was really happening!

And we were off. I don’t remember chit chat, but there must have been a lot of it as Trisha and two other boys were crammed in the small back seat. What I do remember was Dave. His sideways smirks at me, his hand brushing my leg as he shifted gears; feeling like we could have driven all night, just like that, I was so completely satiated just being in his presence.

It was a regular big ‘ol high school party, and he held my trembling hand as we walked through the throngs of people to get to the keg (sorry mom).  Everyone knew Dave, and everyone, particularly the girls, did a double take to see me, the unknown Freshman by his side.  He actually seemed proud to be with me, and introduced me to his friends. My confidence rose higher and higher as he kept his hand on mine, or his arm around me the remainder of the party.

I remember nothing, nothing at all, other than standing by his side. The feel of his hand or his body next to mine was electric, palpable. I wanted to freeze time.

When the party ended (ahem, got broken up by the police), he clutched my hand  and led me out the back door to his truck. Lucky for me, we got separated from our friends and he and I went to Carl’s Jr. down the street – where over a huge plate of fries, we talked for hours.  It was the best night of my life.

I forgot I was awful and fat and lame and ugly.

I instead was funny, charming, maybe even pretty. It was the first time in a long time, I was me. The real me , and Dave saw me, and somehow, liked me. I had no pretenses, no insecurities – he allowed me to be ME that night., I allowed me to be ME that night. It was extraordinary.

Carls Jr. finally kicked us out, so we drove a bit, then he dropped me off at my friends house somewhere towards dawn. He walked me to the door (well back door technically since I was sneaking in) kissed me goodbye and said he would see me soon. Trisha had (thank God) gotten home safely and snuck in hours before me. She and I talked until the sun came up replaying every single moment of the night.

The sweetness continued.

I went home the next day, and at some point in the afternoon, our doorbell rang. I went down to get it and no one was there. But “someone” had left three red roses, with a sweet note that said “wanted to show you how good it felt to have a secret admirer…thanks for a wonderful night”. I never even told him where I lived. He actually looked me up in the phone book -which somehow made it that much more amazing.

I cried. I screamed. I laughed. I felt simply alive and beautiful and loved.

In a movie, this is where the story would end, and everyone goes home happy.

But this is reality, and truth be told, all my insecurities got in the way and pretty much screwed it up from there on out.

God Bless Dave. He tried.

We did “hang out and date” for another month or so. He took me to lunch each day in his mini-truck, at the high envy (and shock) of all the other girls. And I did reach an elevated state of “popular”, simply because most people were wondering “who the hell is that dorky freshman with Dave?”.

We hung out over a few weekends, did some “group kick backs” but I could sense things were slowly changing.

Soon all my own self doubts and insecurities came screaming in.

I got too clingy. I wrote notes to him every day telling him I loved him. I waited outside his classroom each day and overwhelmed him with my neediness.

He was gentle. He let me down slowly. The lunches started slowing down. The phone calls started slipping back. He finally delivered me the final, fateful note – the cliched, awful note that stated, “it wasn’t ME it was HIM. He just wasn’t ready…..”

A true gentleman, really, considering what a clingy, weepy, pain in the ass I must have been.

He graduated that summer. And I was heartbroken. It was agony.

It was my first heart-break, and it was horrendous. Physical grief and pain I felt in every cell of my being.

At the time, it was so tragic. Looking back, it was such a gift.

As I mentioned early on, I had this false sense of bravado, and from a girl that hated herself so much at one time, it was OK that Dave encouraged that boldness in me. I went out on a limb. He caught me before I fell.

Not only was being bold OK, but he taught me there was actually something lovely and worth loving in me. Most important,  he taught me that I, and I alone, set the limit for what I allowed, good or bad, into my reality.

I brought Dave in. I allowed the fairy-tale to come true because I believed in and wanted it so much.

Then, I stopped believing in it. I let myself think it was too good to be true. I thought he was too good for me, and that I didn’t deserve him.

And I didn’t. And he left.

Of course I deserved him. Of course I was good enough for him. I just stopped being ME. I started being who I thought I needed to be to keep him, and it cut off that beautiful force I truly was.

It took some time, and a few more heartbreaks along the way, but I figured it out. We all do eventually. I just cherish the journey I rode. It was painful, but it was glorious. Reminiscing with my very boy-crazy daughter reminds me that we all write the ending to our own stories. Since Dave, I’ve had many young, silly “love” adventures that ultimately led me to my own true love. I hope that my stories encourage her own sense of adventure and boldness, and also remind her, she is good and perfect and totally worthy of loving, just like I was.