What Love Looks Like
I think about this every Valentine’s Day. It’s the picture that does it.
And I almost lost it.
You see, when my hard drive crashed a few years ago I discovered, to my horror, that I hadn’t been as conscientious about backups as I thought. Especially photos.
But there it was, thank God, all by itself in a folder that the Geek Squad had managed to salvage. One of my favorite pictures of my favorite person.
Standing next to the boy who was then her favorite person. Her first love. Decked out in tails, no less, for the prom she flew East to attend on his arm.
And in the picture, he gazes at my baby girl in a way that I am certain could save a life. In a way that I am certain we should all be gazed upon just once, so that we know what love looks like.
They lasted just long enough for her to learn some of the most important things about loving someone. The good and the bad.
So I call him her “training wheel love.” The boy she practiced the art of falling into and out of love with in ways that will inform all the rest of her relationships forever. And she was very lucky to have found, so early, a love so sweet.
The way she found him is totally New Millennium. She was about…I’m thinking 15 or 16, though my memory fails me these days and all the years and moments have melted together.
But I remember that she and a little group of computer geek pals happened, somehow, upon another group of computer geek kids from school who had formed a little international network of “Web pals.”
But they were real friends, sharing their everyday trials and tribulations thoughtfully and intensely with each other. Kids who fell in love with and “dated” each other, online.
I didn’t know the whole story at the time because she hid it from me very skillfully for a while, knowing how apprehensive I would be. But once I caught on, and she saw that I was more fascinated than frightened, she invited me into her Web world, giving me regular updates.
Eventually one particular boy caught her fancy. Scary smart, he could discuss string theory, help her with her homework and give her his views on current political events while racing through the levels of their latest favorite video game at warp speed.
Sometimes, headsets on for hours, they watched TV together, barely even speaking save to comment on the movie or TV show or let each other know they were going for a soda or bathroom break.
They were living together long distance. And when I expressed concern about that, he sided with me.
He’d warned her that they were staying up too late and that her that her grades might suffer. In fact, he’d begun calling to wake her up and get her to school on time.
So when he asked to come meet and reassure me, I was impressed. And when he arrived, I was even more impressed.
He bounded down the escalator stairs into her arms as if they’d been together forever. I remember other people giving them that, “Awwwwww, how cute is that?” look.
I was a little envious, truth be told. He was a copper-haired cutie pie who greeted me graciously and gracefully. F. Scott Fitzgerald would have said there was “money” in his voice and manner. And a cocky confidence that both unnerved and undeniably charmed me.
Single women friends were also unnerved. For a different reason.
“Okay, I’ve spent a fortune on dating sites and she just…runs into this guy by accident?!” one snapped. Adding, “Does he have a much older brother?” a beat or two after.
It was a remarkable visit from start to finish. But the memory that lingers, for me, was the night that I found him lying on the couch in the den, contentedly — no, lovingly watching my daughter drool down his arm.
Now, I knew that arm had probably fallen asleep ages ago. She was in one of those deeeeeeep sleeps. The kind you can only fall into when you’re feeling super secure with someone . Hence, the drooling.
Hoping to wake her for his sake, I said, “Oh, my goodness, baby, don’t let her do that! Just wake her up! She’ll go right back to sleep.”
And without taking his eyes off her, he smiled and murmured, “Oh, I don’t mind. It’s…hers…”
The line of a lifetime. And she’d missed it.
But I hadn’t. And I didn’t even know how to answer him.
But my heart thanked him for it. And I told her about it later, just to see the look in her eyes.
A few days later he would search for the very best restaurant in town to take her for a “farewell” dinner. And I remember he cried, openly and wrenchingly, later that night, insisting that he just could not leave her. He just couldn’t.
He did leave. But a few months later she flew out to attend his prom. And to meet his private school friends who all had names like “Stanford Whittington the Third.”
She was probably the most whimsically dressed girl at the prom that night, having been voted “The girl most likely to have white hair at her white wedding” at her own high school for a reason.
That night she wore purple and streaked her hair to match. Even in black and white she looks…well, “colorful.”
He adored her for it. And he gave her what I call, The Look. A gaze that tells you how love should feel.
I am so delighted that it survived the “crash.” And to share it with you. Smile, my babies.
And happy Valentine’s Day, everybody.
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