A Not-So-Happy Ending (Part 1)

My first love came into my life on an otherwise unremarkable day. It was the end of my junior year, 2003. My evil English teacher was droning on about the reading assignment or something. While I was mindlessly doodling in my notebook, pretending to take notes, I noticed a new boy sitting at one of the corner desks. He was tall, slender and had a mop of brown hair that fell over his eyes. He had hazel eyes, a full mouth and a cute, upturned nose. I was curious... And instantly attracted. Good-looking boys were pretty commonplace in Los Alamos, but there was something different about this one. I couldn't quite place my finger on what it was. I sipped my Dr Pepper and snuck looks hs way; every time our eyes met, I could feel my face burning. He was so dreamy! I made up my mind right then and there to make him my boyfriend.
There was only one problem: I already had a boyfriend. Kevin and I had been seeing each other for about six months. He was a lifeguard at the local pool, and I'd met him when I practised with the swim team. He was two years older than me, a freshman at the local community college. Over the course of our relationship, Kevin had become increasingly controlling, possessive and demanding. I'd never had a "real" relationship before him so even though I didn't want to be with him anymore, I had no idea how to leave. At the moment though, Kevin was the furthest thing from my mind. I was focused on talking to New Boy. When class ended, I made my way over to his desk. "Hi," I said, "you're new here, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," he replied.
"That's too bad," I said. "If I were you, I'd get out as soon as you can." I was trying to make a joke, but he only gave me a bewildered look. My face turned red as a beet, and I turned to walk away before I could embarrass myself further.
It turned out that he was in my French class as well. He sat in the back, conveniently behind my usual seat. I noticed that he was writing kanji characters in his notebook. "Japanese?" I asked knowledgeably. At the time, I was going through an "otaku" phase and I loved everything Japan.
"Correct," he replied, not looking up.
"I know some Japanese,"I bragged, hoping he would be impressed. Now he looked up at me, and I saw that his eyes were even more beautiful up close, with flecks of gold and green in them.
"Say something in Japanese,"he said.
Dammit. I panicked. I knew a lot of random words and phrases, but my traitorous tongue refused to let me speak. He scoffed. "You're like Saddam Hussein," he muttered, going back to writing. This was a reference to Saddam Hussein's pretending not to speak English because he believed Arabic was the only "true language." In spite of our rocky start, New Boy actually became interested in me. I found out that his name was John, he had just moved here from Louisiana, and his father worked at Los Alamos National Laboratory like my mother. John had been born in Utah but had moved around a lot due to his father being in the Air Force. We started hanging out frequently. I loved hearing him talk, he had a soft, pleasant voice and laugh I found spellbinding. Before long, he asked me on a date.
His parents agreed to take us to see "The Matrix Reloaded" on a Friday night. They drove up to my house in an ancient blue Chevy Suburban. He'd told me that his family was Mormon and his parents were conservative folk. On the whole drive to the theater, which took about twenty minutes, I made nervous small talk and hoped I wasn't making a complete idiot of myself. After the movie, I snuggled close to him, inhaling his scent and wrapping my arms around his waist (even though his dad shot me a death glare in the rear view mirror). I couldn't remember ever being this happy with Kevin, who had rarely taken me on real dates.
Speaking of Kevin... of course, he wasn't too thrilled that I'd gone on a date with another guy. A messy breakup ensued, which included stalking, some creepy emails and a run-in at the pool. However, once the dust settled, John and I were inseparable. The first few months of our relationship were absolute bliss. We spent lunches together, hours on the phone, we wrote each other long, rambling letters. I cherished every minute we spent together. However, I quickly learned we didn't have many interests in common. I was an athlete, he didn't care for most sports. Besides languages, he was interested in Michael Biehn, an old TV show called Kung Fu, and Arnold Schwarzenegger movies. He liked a lot of obscure music while I preferred more mainstream bands like Coldplay. He also had a very strange sense of style, his entire wardrobe seemed to consist of plain tee shirts, khakis and fleece jackets from Old Navy. Despite our differences, I was crazy about him. His parents had grown to like me as well, though his brothers were indifferent at best. As senior year began, our relationship continued to flourish.
Before John, I'd fooled around with a few guys, but I had yet to have sex. Raised in a strict Christian household, I believed that virginity was precious, to be given only to someone I thought was worthy. Now I thought John was worthy. I had been his first kiss, his first everything really, so I was sure he wanted me the way I wanted him. In September he took me to the Homecoming Dance. We didn't stay long. We ended up in a dark parking lot in his parents' SUV. One thing led to another, and within minutes neither of us were virgins anymore. It was awkward, a bit painful, and over quickly. But I had given him something I could give no one else, and to me, this meant an unbreakable bond had been forged between us. As I held him afterward, I swore to myself that I would never again love anyone the way I loved him.
The honeymoon phase came to a swift end soon after Homecoming night. Unbeknownst to us, his parents had become suspicious of how close we were really getting. Though they were always nice to my face, they did not trust me, thinking that sooner or later I would "ruin" their precious eldest son. Their suspicions were proved correct when John's mother went snooping through his drawers one day. She found a letter I'd written him which mentioned our encounter at Homecoming. She called my mother, and they sat us down for a meeting which mainly consisted of them telling us how foolish we were, and how disappointed they were in the both of us. His mother asked if we'd used any kind of birth control (we had) and what we planned to do if I was pregnant. My mother barely looked at me the entire time, but on the way home from the Christens' house she told me that I wasn't allowed to see John anymore. I was heartbroken. How dare she tell me I was forbidden to see the love of my life? For days, I sulked. John and I did our best to avoid each other. I didn't even look at him in fifth period Economics.
After about a week of this, I couldn't take it anymore. We started seeing each other in secret. We stole kisses in the hallway and we wrote each other constantly since we couldn't talk on the phone. John was driving one of his parents'spare cars and we would go to secluded places to make love. Around this time, I'd gotten a job as a cook at Dominos PIzza, in a bid to show my mother I was responsible. Since I was working, doing sports and keeping my grades up, Mum slowly started granting me privileges back, including the phone and going out. Gradually the Christens' iciness toward me thawed, and he was allowed to get a job at Dominos as well, working as a driver. Even though it seemed like we had overcome our parents, things weren't the same as they were before. By my eighteenth birthday, eight months in, the downhill spiral began.

TO BE CONTINUED

How Harry Potter Changed This Muggle's Life

Today, I went to go see part two of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." Quite an emotional experience this was. I cried at least three times (I sobbed throughout the whole sequence that showed Snape's memories, that part was so heartbreaking) and when I left, I realised something. With this movie, a huge part of my childhood/teenhood/young adulthood was ending. J.K. Rowling has pooh-poohed rumours that there will be any more Harry Potter novels. Pottermore, the website that will supposedly take fans "beyond the books", does not officially open until October. But Harry's adventures are now over.

The original novel was published in 1997, when I was in fifth grade. I devoured each book; with every one that finished, I longed for more of the Boy Who Lived and his friends. The novels grew up as I did. I was a child curious about the world as the saga started, and as the story grew darker, Harry more jaded, I did too as I learned painful lessons that come with growing up (like my first heartbreak.) Life wasn't always easy. The books often provided my only solace, my only escape.

I loved spending lazy afternoons with Harry, Ron and Hermione. I would fly on a broomstick, playing Quidditch. I would suffer through Potions lessons. I would face the perils of the Triwizard Tournament and watch a good person killed at the hands of my enemy. I would join the trio as they searched for Horcruxes, and answers to the many questions Dumbledore left behind.In the end, I learned that good always triumphs over evil, and that the loyalty of friends and family is worth more than power.

Harry was willing to sacrifice himself to save the entire world. He trusted his mentor, even when this mentor wasn't always as forthright as he should have been. Even after he found out the truth of his existence, he faced his destiny with his head held high. Harry's spirit inspired me and millions of other people for over a decade. While other series like "Twilight" may have also enjoyed widespread popularity, it is the depth of the story, and the sheer humanity of its characters, that make the series so amazing.

Harry's spirit and courage are truly an inspiration. He taught me never to give up even when times seem grim and the whole world is against you. Albus Dumbledore said towards the end of the book, "Don't pity the dead. Pity the living, especially those living without love." Though Voldemort was powerful and had a lot of followers, he lived a life without love or friendship. In the end this was his undoing.

Thank you, Harry, for not only inspiring me to read and write, but to live. :)