AD

My tattoo is small. Less than a square inch of black ink etched onto my wrist, yet the two thin letters I wear carry a legacy.

2013 was an unforgettable year. High school had come and gone. Graduation parties filled the summer and for my 18th birthday my boyfriend drove me around the island. My boyfriend Alan and I met on the first day of high school. I was coming from a private intermediate school while he, like most freshmen, came from the district’s public intermediate.

As I walked into nineth grade English, I looked around to see desks organized into groups. I sat alone as other students filed in and sat among their friends. The last group to come in consisted of three boys; two were familiar faces from church while the third had on a hood. Taking pity on the only person sitting alone they came and sat in the empty chairs beside me. It turned out that all four of us had the next class together as well. I was thankful to know that I would not walking or sitting alone again when the next bell rang.

As the days went on it would take some time for the boy in the hood to acknowledge to me, but eventually we started talking. We spoke every night at 9pm, when the minutes would be free, and it was something his friends and family would tease him for. Alan was my first serious boyfriend; first kiss and we dated all four years of high school. We went to prom together and when I was unable to attend the winter formal, he set up Christmas lights and we danced in his bedroom to songs he produced for me.

We were there for each other and we knew what we had was special. There would be times when we would walk the hall and have students come up and comment on us being the perfect couple. Alan was patient and supportive even during my crabbiest of moments. While I filled out college applications Alan supported my decision to go out of state. We never fought about me leaving, he knew I wanted to be on my own and see new places and I understood that his decision to study in state was so more money could be saved for his younger sister to one day go to college wherever she wanted.

One night as we sat in the convertible, gazing at stars, I asked Alan what he wanted in life. I had just gone on and on about my expectations for college and beyond. He said he could die young and be happy. I would not accept his answer. I argued that there were too many things we had not done, like move into our perfect house or create a family. He told me how there were things he would like to do like travel and produce music, but that he was happy loving me and having me in his life. It took me a long time to appreciate his answer.

We had a beautiful summer together and then I packed up and left for Arizona with a few days to settle in before classes began. We talked every night, I told him about the new friend I made who was going to show me a shortcut to class and said our goodnights like we did for four years. A few hours later I heard my phone ring but let it go unanswered. In the morning I saw several missed calls. Eventually I got in touch with friends who tell me Alan is in the E.R. After our phone call he had been hit by a car and was in critical condition. I called his sister who tells me the family is still at the hospital and I tell them to call me as soon as he is better and can talk. Hours pass and I hear nothing. I call again hoping to speak to Alan, but his sister tells me he did not make it out of surgery.

On what should have been Alan’s 19th birthday his family and I went to lunch. As we finished eating, I asked his younger sister to come with me across the street to a tattoo shop. I asked her to write his initials and then had a hesitant tattoo artist trace “AD” onto my wrist. I could tell he felt uncomfortable with the idea of a young girl putting everlasting initials of her boyfriend on her skin. I did not explain that those two letters stood for Alan Danielson, someone who loved me more than life itself and always made me feel like I could have the world. That “AD” was and would forever be my first love and the standard to what I defined love. “AD” treated in a way that made me feel beautiful and encouraged me to be my best because he always saw the best in me.

Alan had more knowledge than anyone I knew seven years ago and still to this day. I look back on his life and finally understand what he meant when he said he was happy with his life. He was a best friend to many, a thoughtful son, caring brother, and of course the first love of my life.

Asking questions about friends, children and siblings are easy enough, while asking about exes can be taboo, so I decided to put mine on my sleeve. My tattoo is an opener so I can talk and share a little bit about Alan who lost his life too soon. My tattoo also bonded me and his sister. She was only 15 at the time of his accident and it happened four days before she turned 16. We both lost someone we looked up to.

Life does not always go as imagined and I learned that too young. The life Alan and I once pictured together was tragically cut short, but I bring his love with me everywhere I go. To have been loved by Alan makes me the luckiest girl in the world, to have special memories between just him and I, I will cherish everyone. I proudly carry two little letters with me as tribute to the person and the legacy of Alan, someone who will always mean the world to me and someone I can say showed me love me to the day he died.