Lagoon

When I was 16 I went to Lagoon with my family and my bestie Jenny. We had just gotten back from EFY, exhausted from our night long toga party and high on the spirit. EFY is that perfect combination of teenage mormondom; lots of hormones tempered by a healthy dose of the gospel. It was my favorite week of the year. And each summer I came home with a batch of new besties and a boy. I was an Oregon girl easily wooed by a smooth talking Mormon boy. Brad was from Las Vegas and said I was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Easily wooed.

It was just my luck that this Vegas boy was staying with his Grandma in Bountiful and we could reunite at Lagoon the very next day. Certain heartache had been averted one more day. So we rolled up to Lagoon that morning, Jenny and I in our matching BYU boxer shorts and In n Out t-shirts, ready for a fun filled day of flirting. And roller coasters. In that order.

And there was Brad. A buck twenty-five, dressed in white from head to toe, scrubbed squeaky clean, braces shining. My stomach turned. White jeans? Who wears white jeans? And he looked so....eager standing there, a big goofy grin on his face. Just like that, I had fallen head over heels out of love in the way only a teenage girl can. 

So, there we stood, one eager boy, one fickle girl and one third wheel with an entire day in front of us. There was nothing to do but jump in. So we did. I rode with Jenny every chance I got. It wasn't a subtle thing, this change of heart. I could see his confusion, could feel the desperation working in him. I even felt a little bad. A little. So there we stood, waiting in another line, avoiding yet another attempt at hand holding. It wasn't working. His attempts and my avoiding were an awkward, fumbling dance. And then there were those blasted double swings, an empty one waiting right next to my smirking girlfriend. At least someone was enjoying this. So we squeezed together, this boy and I. More talking. More braces. Brad jumped off as the ride ended and grabbed my hand. We walked by the ride operator on our way out. A cute boy with shaggy hair and blue eyes. I smiled in an innocent, rescue me from the torture of my life kind of way. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back among the bustle of people. Cue the dramatic, yet romantic background music.

"Is that you're boyfriend?" 

"Um, well....not exactly. It's complicated."

"It shouldn't be. You're hot. He's...not. Easy."

My cheeks burned for all sorts of reasons and I turned and walked away. It was one of those moments. The kind you remember 20 years later when you are in line for those same swings with your own children fighting to hold your hand. You remember and feel 16 again, for just a moment. And maybe even a little proud in the most vain way. That boys did think you were hot once upon a time. That they grabbed your hand and told you so. And then your 38 year old self chimes in and reminds you of that other boy. The one you fell out of love with. And you smile at the memory. All of it.