Of What I Used to Know

There used to be a boy. I wish we'd been something more, but I am so young. I have many years of boys ahead of me. Many years of dates, romance, first kisses, first dances, secretive looks, New Years, and date movies.

But something about this one stuck in my mind. Maybe it was his eyes, so dark brown they matched my eyeliner. Perhaps it was the way he didn't have to smile, but you could tell he was smiling.

Or it could have been the way that unforgettable afternoon was forever engrained in my memory.

We were comparing our talents and saying we were the only ones who could do them, very juvenile indeed. It was one way to spend a boring June day, however.

He bent his thumb back to touch his forearm. "Only Italians can do that."

I rolled my tougue. "My family can do that."

He got down and did ten one armed push-ups. "Only cadets can do that."

I batted my eyelashes quick. "Only girls can do that."

He flexed. "And only boys can do that."

My heart jumped in my throat as I leaned in and kissed him, a hot flush rising into my cheeks. He never budged, but we sat beside each other, silent for a minute, before I began to speak.

"And that," I whispered proudly, "Is something only I can do!"