Love, or something like it

Are you ready for it? For the story? This isn't just any story you're about to hear. This story is a bit like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir weekly broadcast; it started a long, long time ago, and there is no end in sight. Or at least, there wasn't.

On the first day of 2nd grade, my teacher told us that 2nd grade was the year of "puppy love." She prophesied that each of us, at some time during the year, would find ourselves in this "puppy love." We all laughed, of course, at such a ridiculous proposition. She was right. Halfway through the year, I sat at a table with Amy.* Amy was an actress. A good one, at that. When combined with her natural smile, that was enough to hook me. I was, as predicted, in puppy love.

It didn't end in 2nd grade, though. In fact, it didn't end in 3rd grade either. Nor in 4th, 5th, or 6th. This may have been puppy love, but it sure was a persistent puppy love. And, while in 7th and 8th grade I also had a bit of a crush on Julie*, Amy was still high on the list.

Just as 8th grade was ending, my family moved away from that area, and Amy's father was called to be a mission president in Europe. It was pretty apparent that we wouldn't be seeing much of each other for the next few years. I'd liked her for quite a while, and though I don't know that I was ever her biggest crush, I'm pretty sure she'd at least somewhat liked me too. I was sad to see her go. Over time, though, I moved on. I met a couple girls at my new school that I really liked, and slowly stopped thinking much about Amy.

Or so I thought. Just when Amy was just about gone from my mind, I had a dream that I was at my brother's track meet (none of my brothers were in track at the time) in the bleachers. In my dream, I turned around and saw Amy there. I was excited to see her in my dream, and I went to talk to her for a few minutes. When I woke up, I was back in love (or something like it).

A few months passed, and had again basically moved on. I went to Seminary one day, where we were talking about the importance of prophets. The teacher showed a brief video, and one of the principal characters in the video was played by Amy. I walked out of class back in love.

Another time, the local newspaper ran an article in the Arts section featuring Amy. I was back in love. Another time I met someone who had met Amy while on his European mission. I was back in love. It just didn't stop. Every time I had just about forgotten all about her, something random would happen to remind me of her, and I was back in love (or something like it). When Amy's family returned home from Europe, I called her up and asked her on a date. We honestly had a wonderful time together; it was one of the most enjoyable dates of my life to that point. However, when we both came to BYU, she started dating another guy, and we had a slightly hurtful (to me) exchange, so I tried to move on. But it still didn't stop.

And let me be clear. It really didn't stop. I went on my mission, and one in one of the first Sunday School lessons I attended, the seminary video was shown. That threw me way out of whack. There's a full two-and-a-half pages in my journal about my feelings that day. It really affected me. But that wasn't the end. A few months later, I moved to a new area and lived with a missionary who had known Amy while living in Europe. A few months later, I moved to another new area and picked up a month-old copy of the Church News (which we received periodically). Inside was a story about a new play they were doing in Nauvoo for younger children. The star? Amy.

This last summer I lived in Albuquerque with my cousins. I hadn't thought of Amy in nearly 7 months, when I had a dream about her. In my dream, we crossed paths at a BYU event, I offered to walk her home, and somehow we ended up on a double date to a play at Abravanel Hall. And we were having a food fight. I woke up thoroughly in love. It. Just. Never. Stops. It's been so persistent that I've on occasion wondered if there were some divine purpose behind it. It's just uncanny. The Amy saga has been one of the defining plot lines of my life. Which is why what you're about to read is so momentous.

A few weeks back, I took one of the female writers out to Cafe Rio. This was our first date, and I was anxious for everything to go well, since I'd been interested in her for a number of months, and arranging a date with her had been a complex affair. We were standing in line, laughing and generally enjoying ourselves, when I turned to see Amy walk in with a date and get in line not far from us. I hadn't seen Amy in nearly four years, and our last actual exchange had been a bit unpleasant, to be honest. I had an idealized version of her living in my head, and I knew it. The meeting of the idealized and the real was about to take place, an event worthy of intense music and hushed silence, and I was on a date I'd been anticipating for weeks. Could things be any worse?

"Amy!" I said, as the line wrapped us around next to them.
"Yellow? How are you?"
"I'm doing well. How are you? I haven't seen you in forever!"

As we continued with the usual "hi, how are you" talk, I realized something. I was over her. It didn't affect me in the least to see her there. My date and I continued our way through line, have a great meal, and a wonderful evening. We've gone on other dates since then, and things seem to be going well.

Amy, I'm glad you're back. I hope to see you around. But, at last, I'm fallen out of love, or something like it.

* Names have been changed to protect privacy.