And you took me on a Jack Tripper ala tour: “Kitchen, living room, bathroom, and heeeere’s the bedroom.” Presumptive, you pulled me onto your bed.
That fall, we started university and our apartments were a block apart.
Early in the relationship, you worked for your dad’s company.
But years later – remember – we watched the video of that play? I thought, what a fantastic story to tell our children.
My parents were convinced their daughter would end up on 20/20 or Dateline since I stayed out late and sang at seedy bars. And damned if you were going to mess up my wonder years.
Until the first slow song, and you asked me to dance.
Who, on our first Valentine’s Day, gave me leather gloves because you learned it was an old English tradition. Remember when you’d saunter into my bedroom, and we’d sing that Charlie Major song? We never knew where we stood except on shaky ground. You wanted our relationship to start where it left off – or speed up. And our relationship – and friendship – subsequently died. The hold we had on each other was incomprehensible. Harvey, we tried to force a relationship out of mutual attraction. Was I the only one affected by Degrassi’s School’s Out? You drove me home, and we crept into a tent my parents set up on the yard.