First love

The girls wanted to know : her first crush. Very first, please. So she dug deep and remembered him: his name was Stevie. She couldn’t remember his last name and was most definitely not even distant Facebook acquaintances or twitter following friends with him. In fact, she had no idea what had become of him. He was a disheveled boy with blue gray eyes, ratty blond curls and tattered, dirty clothes. He was quiet and tousled and distracted — a type she was still drawn to now, several decades later.

He only liked science and running relay races during recess and nothing else. To pass time until science rolled around, he mixed crayon shavings into his glue – which he then dripped onto his desk, the glue later hardening into fantastically colored swirls of milky translucence. She and Stevie would peel off the soft rounds and stick them in the windows at school to give the stale air some hint of magic. They would run among the trees in the woods that bordered the playground and pretend they were on adventures.

They never touched except maybe sticky dirty fingertips brushing up against each other accidentally.

And that was magical too.

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4 thoughts on “First love

  1. I just posted a link to your blog in today’s piece (“No Painkiller Available”) on The Getting Old Blog. I hope it brings at least a few more visitors to your site to appreciate what you write. ūüôā

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