"We met in the summer of 1989. He was fifteen and I was thirteen. He had been climbing trees with his bare hands all afternoon, down by the lake near William's Edge; all the high school boys went there in the summer to cool off and fetch themselves battle scars. He came riding back into town with his white shirt all ragged and dirtied, the arms cut off at the shoulders. Holding onto his bike handles, standing on the pedals the way my mother warned me never to ride my bike, he was everything the world needed: young, strong, overly confident. His hair was wet and his face was dirty. He turned his head oh so slowly, and I knew he was something special. The trick was to get him to understand he was my something special."
Your topic:
First Impressions
Comments