The day? Unknown.
My age? The blessed 10.
The OG Celebrity Crush? Brad Pitt.
I was a very very, late bloomer and am now the textbook definition of a successful "glow-up," so noticing boys or being noticed by boys was non-existent. I was fortunate though to have an older sister who would occasionally hang out with me and dredge all her high school drama, show me films and music, practice makeup on my porcelain pre-hormonal skin, and put me to work clipping celebrities out of magazines so she could Mache them on her closet door.
She hailed me to her room one day after school. I had been stuffing my face with Oreos — calories be damned, and I hid the contraband in my pocket knowing her frail form would ridicule me for the excessive calorie intake.
"Do you think I look like her?" She held up a magazine.
I looked at the girl briefly, she did actually resemble my sister but in an obviously-beautiful celebrity sort of way. I didn't know who she was at the time but later realized it was the alluring Natalie Portman.
"Yeah, sure." I acknowledged with a smile.
With an eye roll she tossed me the magazine and a pair of scissors. "Here, cut all her pictures out."
I sat down on the floor and got to work. Earning my “cool credit” with my sister.
"Oh, this is a good movie, you should watch it." She prompted suddenly, then ordered me to turn up the volume.
The scene was a barren tundra, a man and his young sons. She likes this movie? Was my first thought. Well if she likes it, I should like it too. Was my second.
I watched as if I would have been graded on it later.
A childhood yawn escaped me, when a very now-grown Tristan entered the scene.
I was captivated. His golden hair, boyish grin, sparkling blue eyes, tanned skin, perfect Greek God of a body… rustic and wild he entered on horseback. Clippings be damned.
I crossed my legs inched closer to screen, ignoring whatever command my sister had ordered and threw myself into the movie.
It was Brad Pitt and the movie was Legends of the Fall. The "boy" aka man, was gorgeous. Rugged, raw, oozing — what I now know as "sex appeal." I was stunned, how had I never seen him, why wasn't his Adonis of a face plastered on every wall, mall, bus, or gracing every film?!
He was truly beautiful. So beautiful I shied away from any reflective surface for a time. My stomach felt knotted and certain scenes later depicted made me feel shy and embarrassed (the sex scenes), yet I still peeked through a sideways glance. His voice, mannerisms and disobedient yet loyal character had me enthralled. I was done.
I had a crush.
After the film I tore through her magazines looking for pictures of him, I asked her what his name was, I clipped every picture I found and hid them under my shirt to smuggle them from her room. I felt the Oreos — now soft, dampened with sweat in my pocket — and instantly discarded them. A girl of Brad Pitt's would not stuff her face with Oreo's I thought. This was also around the time I started to really look at myself, as girls eventually do, my body, my face, hair… God leg hair! I even made a mental note to ask permission from my parents that evening to start shave my legs.
I stared at his photos for hours. I watched the TV guide's endless rotation of channels for the next weeks looking for "Legends of the Fall" to appear again. I would causally ask what other movies he was in, his age, if he had a girlfriend, I spaced out my questions systematically to not let anyone in on my secret obsession.
Up until this time, my prior obsession had been a pea green Jansport backpack that a girl at school had. She was very pretty, and her backpack was so unique and classic, it made her stand out. I wanted to be unique and classic. I loved how confidently she sported the puke colored backpack and how she made it look cool. I had been relentlessly asking my parents for that backpack for what felt like months, but was likely weeks, if not days, but was always met with the "what's wrong with yours?" response.
Truth? Nothing was wrong with mine. Although, I had become more careless with it, hoping to accidentally snap a strap and tear a hole in the bottom, thus asking for a new one would be warranted.
But now my obsession had shifted.
That night I had a dream. I was at our city mall. I was by the water fountain across from Hot Dog on a Stick, and Brad Pitt entered, like he did on the movie, although not on a horse and not in a straw hat, instead he wore dark denim and a well fitted white tee shirt. He strolled up to me with his jungle cat swagger, flicking his golden locks from his face and met with a jaw dropping smile. I became antsy. I was sweating. No words formed.
When he reached me, he took my hand and announced he was taking me to get the backpack from JC Penny. I remember the dream like it was last night's.
Raw bliss. That's what it was. Pure, unfiltered happiness, I was with Brad Pitt hand-in-hand strolling along the large checkered tiles of the mall, to JC Penny to get my pea green backpack. He took his time, we walked slowly, I was too shy to glance up at his face. His hand felt large intertwined with mine, I swore I could even feel the blisters on his palm from his industrious work on the film. He spoke to me, I don’t remember what he said. When I glanced up to answer him, he was smiling, sportingly chewing some gum on the right side of his mouth with a crooked smile. That smile. Sparks, butterflies, hornets, whatever you want to call it swarmed in my body and I felt my hands sweaty with nerves. But he didn’t mind, he towed my buzzed form into JC Penny, knowing exactly where the backpack was.
He bought me the pea green backpack.
I put it on.
And we were in love.
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