Hometown Stories: My Teen Crush

He lived across the street but went to a different high school. I used to peek out the window looking for him, living for sightings of him, replaying each encounter and looking for hidden meanings. I memorized the smell of the laundry detergent in his clothes. He taught me how to throw a football. I dreamed of elaborate futures in which we ended up together.

It was my best friend he kissed, however. After a while, I made that be okay, and other things became more important. I went to college, I came back. We ran into each other one night at a bar. I was free, thin, and on top of the world. We met back at our parents’ houses at midnight, and we walked to the park. I finally got to kiss him, but it was anticlimactic. I decided I was the better kisser. He would have benefited from my instruction all those years ago.

I moved away. He moved away. He got married. I got married. The day after my sister’s wedding, we ran into each other outside our parents’ houses, tumbling out of minivans with children. I introduced him to my husband. He introduced me to his kids.

“This is so weird,” he said.
“Yeah.” I said. “You look the same.”
“You look better,” he said.

Good answer.