They say you never really get over your first love.
Well, it's true. It's been 20 years, and his name still stirs an ache in
my heart. But I don't regret our relationship. I can't.
Jessica Burgess
Clearly Unedited
Optimus Prime, I've never forgotten you.
He was tall. Really tall. Not dark, exactly, but the blues and reds of
his body were rich and deep. And handsome? To a 9-year-old whose
standard of beauty was based primarily on the My Pretty Pony collection
– oh yes. He was very handsome.
From the moment I first saw him on the Transformers cartoon, he
was my ideal man. Er, robot. Eighteen-wheeler. Creature from Planet
Cybertron. Whatever.
But alas, our love was doomed. I was too young. He was too fictional.
Until recently, this was a private torment. But then, this guy who is
way too interested in what I'm "thinking" and "feeling" wrested it out
of me one night when I sniffled audibly as we walked by Transformers:
The Movie at Blockbuster. (Optimus dies in the end. It's very sad.)
As I spilled my guts, he covered his mouth with his hands and started
shaking. I prefer to think he was crying.
Anyway, life went on, with my boyfriend painfully aware that he was only
a consolation prize. I think it really bothered him – every time we
passed a big rig on the highway, he would point and shriek, "Look,
Jessica! It's your boyfriend!"
Then we saw an ad for BotCon, a convention for collectors of
Transformers toys in Frisco last weekend. It featured a life-size statue
of my love.
"Can we go?" I asked my boyfriend, fearing that the question would
provoke a jealous rage.
"Sure!" he said, surprisingly delighted with the idea. "We can take
pictures of you with your robot friend! Ooh, and maybe I can find a
vintage Starscream."
When we got to the convention, our hands were stamped with tiny images
of Optimus Prime. When my boyfriend was not looking, I tenderly caressed
it with my cheek.
Then, I saw him.
Huge, manly and carved from Styrofoam, he loomed over the tables full of
toys with his gun held at the ready. As I looked up at him, I could see
a spark of recognition in his ... eyes? Are those eyes? Or maybe they're
just lights.
Anyway, it was the moment I'd been waiting for all my life.
I wrapped my arms around one thick, blue-spray-painted leg, and closed
my eyes as my boyfriend took a picture.
I was finally home.
Jessica also dwelled on the Thundercats' Cheetara quite a bit,
but she doesn't want to think about what that could mean. E-mail her at
jburgess @quickdfw.com.
