Dear diary,

           I've fallen in love three times in my life. Two of them overlapped, but the other came later. So let me start with Rodrigo.

There's no doubt how naive I was when we met, yet falling in love with him felt honest. At nineteen years old, I'd never given my heart so willingly before. I had dated boys in high school, but those relationships were so shallow compared to how serious things were with Rodrigo. The free-fall I took into his heart was unavoidable as he sucked me into his enthralling world of music and rebellion. For one month, we spent almost every day together. First, we'd play pool in smoke-filled bars with the bartender sliding us free drinks. Then, we would go to concerts where security guards opened the side doors, giving us backstage access. Finally, Rodrigo would introduce me to his friends, his eyes beaming as if presenting diamonds to a jeweler, and I'd stand by his side, delighted to be attached to him.

Everywhere we went, people knew him, and the attention was intoxicating—Rodrigo was intoxicating, and I hungered for him to touch me at every turn. We'd make out in shadowed corners, our hands wandering, his fingers exploring inside my pants and mine in his. Yet, we never went beyond fondling each other. Anytime things got too heated, he'd back off and have us return to the group. It only made me want him more. 

Maybe that was his plan?

However, everything changed the day he dropped the news about leaving town for the summer, and it landed like a meteor colliding with the earth. 

The afternoon was sunny, with promises of summer sweeping through Dolores Park on a warm breeze as we sat on a blanket. Groups of people mingled across the lush green lawn, wearing shorts and tank tops. Some spiked volleyballs over nets, while others played hacky sack. Music played on a boom box, the sound mixing with the scent of marijuana, like smoke signals reaching for the swaying treetops. We faced each other on a blanket, our damp fingers brushing as we passed a frosty forty-ounce of beer back and forth.

"So, my sweet thing," he said, the words curling out in a white fog from a joint he was smoking. "I'm heading on tour, which means I'll be leaving you."

"When?" My slouched posture straightened like a rod. 

"Monday. I hop into a van and take off."

"And you're only telling me this now!" 

"Nothing was official until a few days ago. Besides, I'm telling you now, and that's what matters."

"And when do you return?"

"End of August."

"So you'll be gone for three months?"

"Yes." He squeezed my hand. "Will you miss me?"

"Of course," I replied as an ache pierced my heart like an arrow.

Three months was a long time after spending almost every day together. The pang in my chest intensified as his thumb brushed my knuckles in a caress. I swallowed a few times, trying to collect the thoughts firing through my brain like a Gatling gun. What would my days without him look like? Spending time together had become part of my routine, and I couldn't imagine going back to being a loner. 

Perhaps if I had made real friends in high school, instead of having acquaintances, the panic of being alone wouldn't have made me so desperate to cling to Rodrigo? But it wasn't just desperation as I squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes. Words were on the tip of my tongue—words that swirled deep in my stomach, but I was too scared to say because what did I know about love?

"Being away from you will be difficult," he continued. "We've spent almost every day together, so to go from that to nothing? It'll be like butchering me in half."

"Yes. It will." The knots in my stomach twisted as if imaginary hands were wringing it like a towel. He threaded his fingers through mine and brought my knuckles to his lips, kissing them.

"Maybe we don't have to miss each other?"

"What do you mean?" I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Come with me. Join me on tour."

"I..."

"Come with me," he repeated, his accent thick yet soft with the plea. "You know you want to."

"I do, but—"

"No, buts. Either you want to spend the summer with me and continue what we have, or stay behind, and we'll see what happens when I get back. You're the one in control here, my sweet thing."

"My parents would never allow it."

"You're a grown woman, Carmela."

"I know. It's just... I'm their baby. Telling them I'm going on tour with someone they've never met is like telling them I'm joining a cult. They'd do everything in their power to stop me."

"It's just a tour. With your boyfriend." He squeezed my hand, and the corner of my mouth twitched upward.

"Am I your girlfriend?"

"I'm whatever you want me to be, my sweet thing, and I can be more."

My eyes dropped to our hands. "They don't even know I'm dating anyone."

"We can change that."

"I'm not sure if they'll approve." I covered my face. 

"Why not?"

"Because." I peered at him between my fingers and then slid them down. "They want some clean-cut, career focussed guy for me."

"I clean up nice!" Rodrigo smoothed down his hair. "And I am career focussed. I'm on my way to the top, baby. This tour will put us on the radar of every major record label. I can feel it! Plus, I'm very charming. Your parents will adore me." 

"You're so confident."

"And you're so beautiful."

I tried hiding the smile spreading across my lips in a warm blush because Rodrigo always knew how to get my heart pumping. "What did you mean you can be more?" 

"Well, I've been thinking..." He grinned, his sepia eyes mischievous. "I care about you a lot, Carmela. It's only been a month, but with you, time is infinite, and I've fallen in love with you."

"You have?" 

"Yes, my sweet thing."

"I love you, too."

"Do you really?" 

"Yes!"

"This is going to sound crazy, but fuck it. Marry me, Carmela."

A gasp snagged in my throat, so I clutched a hand to my chest as staccato heartbeats pounded like a hummingbird breaking free from a cage. Tears pooled as I stared at him—that beautiful face of his, the long dark hair feathering past his slender shoulders and the ink covering his sun-drenched skin. God, I loved him.

"Yes," I answered.

Rodrigo catapulted to his feet and took me with him. As we steadied ourselves, he threw his arms around me, his mouth clamping down on mine—devouring my tongue in eager strokes that weakened my knees. When he pulled away, he addressed everyone in the park with a shout.

"Me and this beautiful, sweet thing are getting married! She's going to be my wife."

A few people clapped, while others stared at us as if we were crazy.

And we were.

We really were.

We drove north as soon as we left Dolores Park. After a few hours, the city landscape transformed into mountains and a vast blue lake as we entered Reno, Nevada. Sweat coated my palms, forcing me to rub them on my knees as Rodrigo parked in front of the Chapel of the Bells on West Fourth street.

Running off to get married was a thrill I'd never known before. It was a euphoria of blood pumping and pulsing the chambers of my heart, but deep down—in the depths of my conscience was also the throbbing thought of disappointing my parents. I was their good girl—the one who would complete college and do something great with her life. But, I didn't ask for that burden to be placed on me, which was why I found solace in sneaky rebellion. Like going to a concert for a one-night stand, and on this occasion, it was a sneaky wedding.

When he saw me rubbing my palms against my jean shorts, he tilted my chin towards him and promised a life of greatness. There was so much love and sincerity in his eyes. I believed him, and he believed it too, but there was no way he could deliver on any of it. 

At the time, I didn't know that.

We exited the car, our hands meeting as we climbed up the short steps to our happily ever after. The ceremony is still a blur to this day. Perhaps a memory my brain chooses to keep hidden? But I can vividly recollect what came later.

As soon as Elvis said I do, Rodrigo lifted me in his arms and carried me down the aisle. The few witnesses present tossed rice and wished us well with flashes of light capturing photos. When we made it outside, night blanketed the sky in navy blue, with street lights and stars generating a haze. We jogged down the steps, hopped into the car, and zipped to the hotel with our newlywed discount offer in hand. 

The hotel wasn't anything special, with its dated decor, stained carpet, and squeaky mattress, but it had a heart-shaped bathtub that felt fancy at the time. When we stepped inside, Rodrigo pressed me against the wall and began kissing me, his strokes eager and his hands hungry as they dug into my hips. 

Every part of me hummed with pent-up desire from weeks of sex being off the table. I wanted him so badly, and this time nothing was stopping us as he unzipped my shorts, yanked them off, and pulled my shirt over my head. I stood in mismatched underwear, fingers fumbling for his pants buckle, but he tossed me over his shoulder, marched us to the bed, and plopped me on top. The mattress springs squealed as I bounced from the force and propped myself on elbows to watch Rodrigo chuck his clothes aside. He kicked his combat boots off, hopping on one foot and then the other, and nearly lost his balance—which caused me to giggle. 

"In a second, you'll do more than just giggle," he rasped, tugging his boxer briefs down.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen a man naked, yet zeroing in on his erection caused my heart to drum at a dangerous pace. Rodrigo wasn't a tall man, nor did he have bulky muscles, but hidden in his Jockeys was a surprise. Even after countless makeout sessions caressing the bulge in his jeans, seeing it in the flesh was entirely different. Would he even fit inside petite little me?

"Ready?" His hungry gaze wandered, and before I could respond, he parted my legs with his knees and thrust himself inside. I gasped at the intrusion, but he swallowed the sound with a kiss. 

It was our wedding night, so I expected our first time together to be more tender, but he proceeded like a rabbit in heat. I tried telling him to slow down, so I could savor the moment, but the squeaky, cheap mattress gulped my words. 

The next thing I knew, he was done.

And then it dawned on me he didn't use protection.

"Rodrigo," I whispered as he rolled off with his chest rising and falling. "You came inside me."

"So?"

"So, you didn't use a condom."

"We're married now, baby. We don't need them."

Instead of pressing the issue, I snuggled my head on his clammy, tattooed chest and counted the blessing in disguise that my menstrual cycle was so irregular it usually skipped every other month. If I were lucky, I wouldn't have to see a tampon until the end of the tour. 

We fell asleep that way, but in the middle of the night, with my amateur skills, I coaxed Rodrigo awake by doing things with my mouth I'd never tried before. This time, I wanted to control the pace, so I climbed on top of him, but Rodrigo flipped me onto my back and pinned my hands.

"Hey! I wanted to be on top," I pouted.

"You're adorable when you frown." He kissed my nose. "And you're all mine." He kissed both cheeks. "My sweet..." He kissed my lips. "Thing." 

This time we moved together, his tempo gentle while whispering how much he loved me. And with my entire soul, I believed it was true love. 

It's funny how perspective changes.