First Love

First Love

A Story by Phil Hubbard

Who can forget what it felt like to be in love for the first time?


Margaret was eleven, the younger sister of my friend. I was fourteen and smitten. No, not smitten, totally, achingly in love. I didn’t know, of course, what I was feeling. Only that I wanted to be with her, wanted to be close to her, to watch her laugh, to watch her smile, hoping beyond hope that her smile was for me.
She knew something was up and tolerated me. Not anywhere near liking, but not rejection either. We developed a bond of sorts, choosing each other to team up for cards or other games, sharing private conversations, feeling comfortable being alone together. She never seemed to mind if our hands touched accidentally, but I never asked to hold her hand.

At that age, the gap between eleven and fourteen is wide, but try explaining that to your heart. In a quiet moment, I asked if I could kiss her, and it was clear, that at eleven, she was not interested in kissing anyone. In the fall, I moved up to the high school. The next summer, I worked as a golf caddy and was away most days and weekends and saw Margaret only in passing. By the next fall, I had a regular part time job and time passed by.

Unexpectedly, in the spring of my senior year, Margaret, now fourteen, invited me to a dance at her social club. I couldn’t miss work because I was saving for college, but I rushed home after work, showered and urgently tried to clean away the dirt and vegetable stains on my hands.

In those days, a boy sent a girl a corsage to wear to the dance. Margaret hadn’t counted on that and asked her parents to order one too. Her Mom made her wear both to the dance. At fourteen, Margaret was pretty and smart and melted my heart all over again. As we danced, she was relaxed in my arms. I sensed that she felt a stirring as well.

At her door that night, I asked if I could see her again. She said maybe but meant yes. I was too shy to call her. That fall, I left for college in the Midwest and then the Air Force and never really returned home. Now that I am alone, I think of her often. The gap between 63 and 66 is no gap at all.

© 2019 Phil Hubbard

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Added on October 12, 2019
Last Updated on October 13, 2019
Tags: first love


Phil Hubbard
Phil Hubbard


I'm a retired college administrator and plan to write about both personal and professional experiences. See all my poems, short stories and novels at more..

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