Thursday, May 01, 2008

Like nearly everyone I've ever loved, I remember the first time I saw him.

I was standing by the bar that separated the all-ages floor from the drunks, idly scanning the room for the cutest boy, and he snaked pasat the crowd and through the doorway in the back. When stars are born the winds that they create sometimes form dusty funnel clouds in space, and it was a little bit of that that I felt thumping around in my chest as I took in his glasses and style and thought, Hey, that one's cute. I dug my hands into the pockets of my jeans--I wore jeans almost every day back then--and he walked onstage, and I said out loud, "Well, that makes sense." And my friends looked at me with their eyebrows raised because I was talking to myself in public. Again.

After forty-five minutes he walked offstage and put his arm around a girl, and I said to myself, Well, that's the end of that. Only, of course, it turned out that it wasn't the end. Of anything. Not yet, anyway.

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