After I had sex for the first time, my period was two weeks late. We'd been safe; I wasn't particularly worried. I didn't say anything. And then there was nothing to say. But sometimes I wonder about the what ifs. What if I had gotten pregnant? At the time, I would have told you there's no way he would have asked me to get an abortion, but I later found out he HAD asked that of his high school girlfriend. I wouldn't have. So there would be this little seven-year-old running around. In my mind, it's a boy. But he might have wanted a little girl. I know he had preferred girl names.
Why do I still think about this eight years later? I don't know. We aren't in touch, we don't talk anymore. His choice. That's probably part of it. And, I mean, it was my first time. It was a big deal (for me). I thought about it a lot before it happened, and I told myself it was okay, it would be okay, even if we didn't, you know, walk off into the sunset together, because we'd been close friends, and we would always be friends. I couldn't see how we wouldn't still be friends, at least. So he would always be a part of my life. As it turns out, he's not a part of my life at all, and maybe that's why I still think of him.
I don't know where this is going. Probably nowhere. Sometimes I just think about it. I don't think about anyone else like this. I mean, they were really a lot of fun and I look back fondly on many things about them, even though one ended quite badly. But they were fun while they lasted. And I don't wonder what if.
