The Love of My Teenage Life Got Married

Once upon a time, when I was a moody early bloomer, my mom made friends with a family-- the Feinbergs-- whose son, Rhett, was exactly my age. Our families became fast friends (they also had a daughter, Anna, who took Suzuki violin lessons with my sister Angela), and we spent a lot of time together doing "family things", like visiting Greenfield Village, playing Pictionary, etc.

Rhett and I became pretty good friends, in a complicated teenage kind of way. I thought he was was a big nerd, and didn't have any compunction about making fun of him for playing computer games or watching Star Trek. At the same time, I thought he was completely brilliant, fun and funny and kind-- it didn't matter to him that I wasn't good at sports; or that I was a poetry-writing , glasses-wearing dweeb who tried too hard to be "cool". We bonded deeply in our shared awkwardness.

At 12 and 13 years old, if someone would've asked me who I wanted to marry, I would've said, "Ewww, gross"-- but inside, the true answer would've resounded in me like an echo in a concrete room, "Rhett! Feinberg! RHETT FEINBERG!" And the truth would sound so loud I'd be desperately embarrassed, like-- did he hear that? Geez, I hope not; but, I sort of hope he did, too. Back then, I'm pretty sure Rhett felt the same for me as I did for him. But what could we do about that at 13 years old? Not much: neither one of us could drive; neither one of us worked, so we didn't have money to go anywhere; and we certainly weren't going to confess to our parents that we were in love, because it might ruin their friendship (how selfless of us!). So we kept our feelings mostly concealed, with the excpetion of a few actions: I wrote him a volume of poetry for his Bar Mitzvah; we held hands once on my bed; and, when we got a little older, we kissed a few times.

Through the years, my mom and Rhett's mom have stayed in touch. I've heard about him through this grapevine, even though I haven't seen him or spoken to him in years. A lot has changed: Rhett's name is now Mike-- after college, he got a great job in the tech industry out in California; his hobbies there include jumping out of planes and other assorted reckless activity. Most recently, Mike got married at a swanky place in Hawaii. My mom forwarded me his wedding website address, and Andrew and I browsed the photos last night. I was so glad to see him looking so happy, next to his beautiful brunette wife. The peace and happiness between them was palpable, even in pictures-- and that complete sense of fulfillment is exactly what I would've wished for him... even when I was 12.

So, I wrote this poem as a reaction/response to my experience viewing the photos:

Looking at Mike Feinberg's Wedding Photo

I have long known the
essence of you-- the vintage version in
the Country Day sweater and creased dark pants--
how I loved you then!-- earnestly, deeply,
secretively-- an early bloomer
trying to conceal my breasts.
I hoped no one would detect either thing.
Back then, my love could've carried us
across The Bridge to Terabithia and onto
drier land where we would've been protected
from the inadequacies of other loves.
Had we walked together, hand-in-hand untouched
by sorrow, you wouldn't have everything
you never knew I wished for you;
I would not see your face as I see it now:
your eyes-- and hers-- glow with the
light of youth to come. Your heart is
finally home.

Many happy years to Mike Feinberg and his lovely bride!