Bettina

I was on a student-travel trip
the summer of my freshman year in
high school. In the first few days
of the trip, I had made intimate
overtures toward the girl I deemed
to be the most beautiful on the trip;
happily, they were reciprocated.
My very first love affair ensued,
complete with the romance of Paris
and the freedom of parents on the other
side of the world. We did a stint
in Holland and I had to be separated
from my pretty girlfriend. On the first
night of our separation, I got really
drunk with my best friend, and ended up
making out with a Dutch girl named
Bettina who was also staying at our
hostel. I don't remember much; the fact
that I can remember her name is
an anomaly. I do remember that our
chaperone came out into the hallway,
where four of us were necking, and,
shaking his head, said it was time
for bed. We didn't speak of the matter
the next day as we rode our bikes to
some other town. Here is my confession:
I cheated on my first girlfriend with
a Dutch girl named Bettina. It wasn't
so much the making out as it was
the adulterous thoughts. Adultery!
It was youthful, starry-eyed love, but,
truth be told, I've always tended toward
all or nothing, and twenty-five years later,
though I have never cheated on a woman
again, the shame is still with me.

(2008)