once a year

[ljgeoff]

When I was fifteen, I fell in love with a boy. He was short, with a roundish face, dark horned-rimmed glasses, and a wicked wit. Over the next eight years, he shot past me in height, traded the glasses for contacts, and the wit became even sharper. We were an odd pair -- he was tall and lanky, sardonic and so very carefully honest, and I was short and round, cheerfully unsophisticated and would lie to everyone, especially myself.

I can close my eyes and see us together, and I want to hug and soothe those two people. I know, intellectually, that he hated me for a long time, and I'd guess that he doesn't think of me at all any more. I haven't seen him in over twenty years.

Whole months go by when I don't think of him. But when I do, I remember the loving. Happy birthday, B. I hope that life is treating you well.