So he tells me. This far away from 7th grade, I have no idea what I thought sex was all about. I guess I figured girls needed a boy to make them feel good. So, they don’t really need a guy……hmmmm.
We relax as I relate the day in detail. Sometimes he asks a question, but mostly, he smiles benignly, shaking his head.
“So now you’re in love? You have a goofy look on your face.”
I shrug, blushing. “Yea, guess so. She’s fucking beautiful, Steve. When she kisses me, I think I could fly. Is that right?”
“Of course it is. I’m happy it happened to you so young. But be warned, this probably won’t last.”
“Why?”
“Cause seventh grade crushes never do. Hell, most couples in high school don’t last more than 3 weeks………………….She’s playing with love, probably kissed you ’cause she wanted to see what it’s like. When did she say you’ll meet again?”
“Friday.”
“OK, come over Thursday and we’ll talk this over. But in the meantime, listen to this and be warned: there will be pain at the end of this.”
He puts on the Byrds. “Listen close: Crosby’s telling you that you will get hurt, like he did. When it’s over, you’re never the same.”
The song curls through my mind, a restless guitar fills the room with mystery. I never listened to this song closely. Crosby is singing so softly, like it’s an effort to push whispers out. These are words come down from the mountain, except it’s a curse laid on me. As I knew then, ‘Burned’ would hang in my consciousness, like an beautiful sad painting. You love bringing it out, but the emotions are paper cuts. At the center of the song, you brood and smolder in silence.
On the stairs, I ask: “One more thing–what did she mean when she said next week was ‘her time’?”
He stops ahead of me. “Yea, that figures your fucking father never told you that, either. Sit on the porch. I’ll give it to you straight.”
Ever have one of those days that you remember so clearly, it was like yesterday?