We’d read our book reports aloud in my treehouse. He’d read first. His dimples and his cupid lips. He played clarinet and on the opposite side of the room, I blew the baritone. He never looked at me during Band.


Walked him to his dentist appointment in 7th grade. Went back to his house to play Mario Brothers. Our vice-principal, Mr. Nash, showed up at his door. We hid in his parent’s closet.


You didn’t need me at all. Your eyes were a pool. Your lower body was a question mark. It was like cats in water- they’ll sit in the sink waiting for you to turn on the faucet.


I hope you are in the depths of a new invention. Far away from the trailer and the chain-linked fence. That picnic table. I imagine you in a canoe, on some Wisconsin lake.


When I close my eyes, I can see our tennis matches. Balls bouncing, aces, winners, losers and set points. The cool August evenings. The ache of school looming.

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