Story III: The Male Heart

I was in the 6th grade. She was in 7th. I had made my move. Now it was her turn.

I was in the 6^th grade. She was in 7^th.

We were in the basement of her house in a rec room with 1970’s faux-wood panelling. We sat on a carpeted floor across from each other with our legs criss-cross under a glass coffee table.

We had only met that day. Our parents were friends of friends. I was visiting for a single afternoon. We would never see each other again.

She brought out a pack of leftover Valentine’s candy hearts, the ones that come in the small boxes with the dusty cellophane windows. She poured them onto the table like board game pieces. We turned them face up to reveal the red BE MINE messages engraved into the candy’s pastel chalk.

There was a flirty excitement in the room. She didn’t know anyone I knew, and I didn’t know anyone she knew. We never would. We didn’t go to the same schools. We were blank slates for each other. There was no burden of our histories on our futures.

Our parents conversed in a far-off upstairs world laughing at parent things. There were no siblings…