You were the first girl who ever liked me, and though I haven’t thought of you in about five years, I watched “Children of a Lesser God” tonight, the same movie you and I saw in the theater, holding hands the whole time. I remember how deeply I wanted them to get together, and how I utterly longed for you and I to last.
You were just like the deaf girl – totally mysterious, angry, bitter, bizarrely pretty, and just enough of a wounded animal to invoke every ounce of protection in me. That night, when you hallucinated and told me the ingredients to an exotic bomb, I don’t know, I didn’t think it was possible to want anyone more.
When you came to visit again, and slammed the dorm door in my face, I walked around campus in an apoplectic haze, shattered. I didn’t know it then, but I resolved never to be hurt by another girl again.
Spring summer fall, spring summer fall, and gradually, I lost all track of you. I had heard whispers of a motorcycle accident, of marrying someone in the military, of three kids. Myself, I can’t imagine being happier where I am, with such a wonderful person who agreed to marry me, and the layers of amazing people that revolve around us, as we do them.
But for a brief moment tonight, I glimpsed into that tiny window and felt the sharp pang of a moment missed.