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.
smooth
You are such a good writer.
That’s perfect!
Love it!
I must be losing it because I don’t remember that relationship…
Good answer indeed! Guess his talking is smoother than his kissing…
FANTASTIC story, even better answer!
this might be one of my favorite posts you’ve ever written.
Well done, my friend.
I read it twice.
This? This post was better than Dooce.
This book would be an exceptional opening to your first novel……..
suz