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The house has quieted down, but my house is always full of kids. Two of them have been talking on the back porch, a girl and a boy, their voices murmuring, rising and falling just below my level of hearing. It's tempting for me to get up and press my ear to the window screen -- not because I want to hear what they're saying, really, but ... just to hear the sound of that time.

That time when I was so young and trying to figure how it all worked, showing another person my heart and asking to see his, trying to sound funny and clever and tough, trying to win at something, be on the receiving end for once.

"Fuck," I can hear her say, "it's just so..." Her voice dipps down, so I never find out how it's just so. But I remember.

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