So Long, Jimmy: When a Former High School Crush Dies
News of the death of a long-ago crush brings a rush of memories — and feelings — back to the surface and provides a pause for reflection
During a recent weekend, I was scrolling on social media when a picture from the past popped up on a high school reunion page. It was accompanied by thumbnail photo and link to an obituary.
Oh, no.
In the picture my high school crush had aged but still looked good and just like I remembered. James — Jimmy to his friends — was a senior back stroker on the high school team that I joined as a novice freshman swimmer. Later, I learned illness swooped in and took him in a year's time.
The memories — and a few feelings — came rushing back as if 30 years had not passed.
I had not seen Jimmy since my first year of high school despite a few attempts to seek him out on the internet or when I asked friends from high school if they had heard anything about him lately. Yet, the memories — and a few feelings — came rushing back as if 30 years had not passed.
Jimmy strode with a swagger and frequently flashed a mischievous smile. Quick with a wise crack, a smirk, and twinkle in his eyes, he led the lane of circle swimmers — fastest (him) to slowest (including me), occasionally calling out encouragement and some quips tinged with his dry humor as we swam 2,500 plus yards in a pool that felt like bathwater. The rule of the team: it didn't matter how slow or awful you swam as long as you showed up for practice each day and kept on swimming.
"You got this," he said to me, part of a cadre of young novice athletes who had never, ever swam for 60 minutes straight. His positivity helped me — a timid girl when it came to things outside my comfort zone — keep going. I could do this.
Flip turns were also a struggle for the newcomers. Often, we hit the wall lopsided, losing our goggles and sometimes crashing into oncoming more experienced team members. They also lapped us, nearly swimming over our bodies until they passed.
"Just stay on your side of the lane and try not to swallow too much water or hurt yourself," he said with chuckle.
Classic rock played from the speakers as he tapped the steering wheel to the beat. I sat beside him in awe.
Once or twice, Jimmy drove me home from practice in his beat-up blue Thunderbird when I didn't have a ride. "Don't call your mom, I can drop you on my way," he said, even though he didn't live near me.
Casual and relaxed, he commanded his car and took the turns leisurely. Classic rock played from the speakers as he tapped the steering wheel to the beat. I sat beside him in awe. To me, Jimmy was both nice guy and bad boy, with a mustache and little bit of mystery thrown in. He stayed out of the fray of the gossip, did not seem to date any girls on the team, and often talked of things like a lazy day fishing and someday owning a boat or sitting at a dock watching the sky dotted with stars overhead.
A few times he showed up with some other senior swimmers at a weekend team party, where miraculously they pulled out six-packs. Sitting on couches listening to their stories and raucous laughter, it was the first time I felt part of something special. I, and the other freshmen, were welcomed into a club where even if you swam slow or came in last place in your race, people still cheered for you.
Jimmy's not the first of my high school class to die for sure, and not the first even that I have found out about while wandering the social media landscape. But this news hit differently. After reading his obituary, I reached out to former team members who I knew would share in my sadness. "What a nice guy" and "So young" and "Gone too soon," came the responses.
A day later I called Coach and had a chat about Jimmy — both his kindness and his skills. "We had three of the best back strokers— Jimmy included — in all of the county at the time," he said. "I shared that with his wife and his parents when I saw them at the service."
Another wave of melancholy washed over me. Not only had Jimmy died leaving his wife and children; he died before his parents. That gave us both pause. Then Coach and I caught up on the details of our lives and families and people we recently had seen from back in the day. The warmth of the team enveloped me once again.
It looked like he did get the boat he had talked about, caught those fish and built a home by the ocean with his family.
Afterwards, I went back to the online obit and watched the memorial video. In it, photos of Jimmy's life with his loved ones drifted by to music. It looked like he did get the boat he had talked about, caught those fish and built a home by the ocean with his family. In the pictures he is smiling, just like the guy I remember. As a few tears slipped down my cheeks, I thought of how he seemed to have had a really terrific life and that made me happy for him.
Often, we don't get to cross paths again with people from high school — especially those unrequited loves that were part of our young hopes and dreams. We might search social media for old crushes and previous boyfriends (or girlfriends). Years pass rapidly and none of us know when we might get the news that changes the course of our health, and the trajectory of our life.
Yet as if no time has transpired, events like this open the window and our teenage recollections come whooshing in. They nudge the memories of our former selves and all the feelings from those times come back to the surface. I recall myself, the self-conscious girl longing to find her place in the new world of high school. The kindness of a teammate offering a sly smile, a kind word and ride home revisits my heart if only for a little while.
So long, Jimmy, and thanks for the sweet memories.
