He was the new kid in my school. We usually got new girls, which was a drag - the boys would be all over them, which the "old" girls hated. But this time, it was a boy.
Not that I noticed. I don't remember seeing him until the day I saw him walking down the hall with his long hair, cross earrring, and drover coat. Tall. Blue-eyed. Girls a few lockers down giggling about him.
He will be mine, I thought.
I'll get him before those little tramps do. (Okay, they weren't tramps, but high school is all about the challenge.)
I realized shortly after that that he was actually in my English class. He sat in the back row listening to his walkman while the rest of us discussed MacBeth (he was assigned the role of Lady MacBeth in a reading.
)
I left secret admirer notes in his locker until a pencil-written note on his locker door (accusing me of being a [wimpy] freshman) prompted me to reveal that I was not a freshman, but in fact, a very cool senior. ("Cool" used loosely.)
We were together for three weeks, broke up, wrote letters for eleven years, and got together after divorces.
Ah, what an invention, divorce.
