Margaret Peterson was my closest friend. Our families lived across the street from each other. From the 3rd grade on, when her family moved to our neighborhood, she was my study partner, my companion to nearly every school gathering and even my date for senior prom. She taught me the meaning of loyalty and friendship, and maybe unbeknownst to her, she taught me how to love unconditionally.
I was unreasonably driven in high school. So was Maggie. She wanted to be a lawyer. So did I. Our common goal meant we had to get into great schools by graduating at the top of our class. She pushed me to be the best. I challenged her to achieve the great things I knew she was capable of.
I wasn’t interested in any type of high school romance. Maggie wasn’t either. I didn’t want to be distracted from my goals. She wasn’t interested in dating boys. That didn’t mean we didn’t have any fun. There were sports and drama and choir and student council and clubs and committees. We wanted to experience everything, and we did. The time that other kids spent dating and partying, we spent on extra-curricular activities. We had a blast.
I was the captain of the basketball team, president of the student council, salutatorian and prom king. Maggie was the class valedictorian, captain of the debate and soccer teams, and year book editor.
I am certain she was the one who left the skateboard on the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps that tripped me during our freshman year. It was the day before our physical fitness testing. My swollen ankle slowed me down just enough to earn me a B+ in freshman physical education, a blemish I could have remedied in summer school but didn’t, and left me . 02 points from matching Maggie’s perfect 4. 0 GPA. But alas, I never could find any physical evidence to prove my case.
Maggie never told me she was a lesbian. She never had to. But she had no interest in guys, I knew that for certain. We never talked about it or even hinted at it. I just knew, and she knew I knew, and our shared secret made us closer. If being closer than inseparable was possible.
I always figured I was her cover story to get through high school without the taunting and teasing. It didn’t bother me at all. She was my cover as well. I never had to answer ridiculous questions about why I wasn’t dating or if I was gay. No one ever questioned why I only ever ‘dated’ Margaret Peterson, the drop dead gorgeous blond bombshell.
And she was, too. Gorgeous I mean. My lifelong friend was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Perfect blond hair, perfect green eyes. As she grew into a young woman, everything else was perfect too. Feet, legs, ass, stomach, breasts, neck, lips, ears, brain. She had it all. No doubt about it.
To everyone looking at us from the outside it would have appeared that we were a normal couple. We frequently held hands and hugged. We would sit close to each other, my arm around her or her head on my shoulder with her arms wrapped around me. We even kissed on the lips, though it was rare. The most meaningful time was the day I said goodbye to her as she left to go to Stanford.
“Thank you for everything, David. No one will ever understand why or how much I love you. You will always be my closest friend,” she whispered in my ear.
Then she took my face in her hands and kissed me right on the lips. It would be 7 years before I saw her again.
***
Before I go on, I hope I haven’t left you with the wrong impression. I wasn’t a geek growing up. Not even close. Sure, I had my awkward boy stage, but mine didn’t last any longer than normal. Nope, I ended high school as your basic suburban hometown hero. By the time I left home, I was six foot four, 210 pounds of lean, good looking muscle with curly brown hair and brown eyes. I was confident, smart, charming and ready to take on the world. My parents were stable, supportive and successful people who had taught me the most important lessons in life. Work hard, be humble, be honest with yourself and others, and treat people with respect. It wasn’t that I couldn’t date in high school. I chose not to date.
I guess that probably would have surprised some people, even my father. Before I left for college my dad sat me down for one of our ‘man to man’ discussions.
“Davie, I am not sure I will ever be able to tell you how proud your mother and I are of you. You have become the young man that I always hoped you would be. I love you very much.”
“Thanks, pop.”
“Uhh… I do have one question for you though, son. Your mother has threatened me with a year on the couch if I fail to have this discussion with you before you head off to face the world. So here goes…. are you a virgin?”
“Yes, dad.”
I had long ago gotten over being uncomfortable during one of my father’s discussions about drugs, alcohol and now apparently sex. I never had a warning about what the topic was going to be, although I usually could take an educated guess. I never got in trouble for answering his questions honestly. I quickly learned that he only wanted what was best for me, and wanted to help me anyway he could. He couldn’t help me if he didn’t know the truth and he never made me uncomfortable about my answers even if he didn’t like them. He never judged me and always tried to guide me to find solutions to problems that I was comfortable with. It just worked for us.
“OK, I have to admit I am surprised to hear that, even though your mother told me that was the case. With the amount of time you and Margaret spent together I was almost certain your answer would be different.”
For a second he seemed to be a little uncertain if he wanted to continue.
“Can I ask wh..?”
“I am not gay, dad.”
It was subtle, but there was a very small sigh of relief.
“Can I ask you a question, Pop?”
“You know you can ask me anything, Davie.”
“Do you consider Mom to be your equal?”
“David, your mother is a far superior person to me in almost every way.”
“When you were in high school, did you ever meet any girl like her?”
“No, David. There was no one at my high school like your mother. I honestly didn’t think anyone that perfect for me existed, until I met her in college.”