I wouldn’t call it love at that point, though. I did not know what love was. I just wanted to be with you very badly. I didn’t have a name for that feeling.
Later when the other boys at school started to pay more attention to girls, I didn’t feel so bad. They were beginning to understand what I’d been feeling for years. They needed a woman. And the girls needed a man. They started to match up and some of them are still together today. Love is so beautiful when it lasts.
I say I didn’t feel bad, but that was only at the beginning. Later they would ask me if I had a girl. I’d say yes, and of course they would want to know who. I couldn’t tell them. I had to make up some story about meeting you when I was at my grandparents’ place for summer vacation. A long-distance thing. Some of the guys thought that was coo1. Others called me a 1iar. I tried not to care. I tried not to worry. At night I would lie in bed and think about you. I wondered what you had done that day. Did you like your school? What was your best subject? I always pretended that you’d be good at English. I pictured you writing me long letters about how much you loved me. You’d sign them with hugs and kisses.
I wonder sometimes if waiting was hard for you. I wondered if you had a boyfriend. I knew you wouldn’t be serious about him. You’d leave him the moment we could be together. I’d get a little jealous1 thinking about it, though. I wanted to be the first to touch you if I could. The first to kiss you and hold your hand. You would be my first. I d