At the time of this photo shoot:
I was single. The kind of single that makes you feel shaving is a waste of a good razor type of single…even when it’s June in Los Angeles.
I felt empowered by the photo shoot, it was a life changer, but then I thought, which I really shouldn’t do because it always leads me to question things like: why does pizza come in a square box? Why is “bra” singular and “panties” plural? and what happens if I meet someone – like “The ONE” and he sees the photos and then The One thinks I’m damaged goods?
So I shelved the pics, hid them on my computer in a file named “Don’t Even Think about posting this!…seriously! STOP!” and hopped a plane to my sister’s wedding.
…and that’s when I re-met a kid from my days growing up in Rye, New York, a town I swore I would never step foot in again- a town I had ran so fast from, even graduating early to get the fuck out of there…and then…
The moment my eyes met his, it was as if I was transported back in time, but instead of fear and pain – I felt safe. My mind flooded with images of the two of us running through my back yard; my hair wild, his skinny legs racing behind me – both of us laughing – breathless. It was sweet and innocent, things I thought I’d never feel. I forgot about the bad stuff and the shame that usually tugged at my skin, in his hazel eyes I was just a little girl running free. I was just me.
To say it was an intense weird deja vu experience would be like saying the Jets are gonna make it to the Superbowl. It is inconceivable, fuck that…It was BEYOND that. So I let go of it cause I wasn’t sure what you are suppose to do when your past and future collide in one awkward moment at your sister’s wedding, especially when your sister is marrying his older brother, and he’s the best man and you are the maid of honor – it just sounds like a fucked up backwards fairy tale.
A month after my sister’s wedding I stayed true to my promise to keep said photos under lock and key, and forgot about the kid from my past…until fate brought us together again.
I don’t think you can call it dating when someone tells you the first time you hang out that he wants to run off and marry you that night. That he has always loved you. That you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
At this point we had only kissed – when he mentions what his ex-girlfriend said to him: “Good luck dealing with a girl that will forever be trapped in that time when all that stuff happened to her.”
Yup, that would be my worst fear realized in fucking technicolor and surround sound.
I kept quiet, because I didn’t think oxygen was still available for my consumption and my voice, the one I had spent years fighting to find, was suddenly silenced.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Fuck no!… but I didn’t say that.
“I shouldn’t have told you.” he said. ” I just…I just want to share everything with you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
But what if there was some truth to her words, and that truth weaved its way into his heart? What if she was right?…that I am unlovable. That I am forever frozen. It’s been 12 years since I had sex (no, that’s not a typo – 12 YEARS!!!)…..what if I freaked out? What if I am just a prisoner of my past?
The strength you feel in the moment when your faith is tested, when someone wields hate and venom, but you only see light is how I knew she was wrong. Love – the real kind had showed up in an unexpected and beautiful way and this time I wasn’t going to run. I stayed exactly where I was suppose to be, tucked safely in his arms.
I posted the photos the next day.
This is my story. This is what I have fought for. I will not be silenced by someone else trying to shame me, I owe it to that little girl with the wind in her hair who used to believe that love would never find me.
For the past few months I have been busy having incredible sex…marrying the man of my dreams…and making a baby.