At the library. At the table just before mine are two teenagers. I'm guessing they're 15 or so. Not old enough to drive yet. The Girl is providing technical support to anyone who asks for it. So far, no takers. She has long, tawny hair and is wearing a tight plaid cotton shirt.
The Boy has a skateboard under one arm and The Girl under the other. He's wearing a black t-shirt and baggy jeans. He's obviously been indulgent to The Girl or his sister or someone with a highlighting kit, because there are blond chunks in his dirty blond hair.
He cannot keep his hands off her. He strokes her right side, just below her arm pit. She giggles and leans into him, then pushes his hand off. He tries again, zeroing in on the nape of her neck. Again, she shrugs him away. Finally, he places his hand in the center of her back, fingers splayed, barely touching her. She does not try to push him away or twist out of his touch.
Ah. They just left. Who can blame them?
I would like to say I remember that, but I really don't. It's...more of a ghost, a vapor trail, an artifact in my attic. Nope. Don't really remember it at all. Oh, but I bet it was sweet and intense and maddeningly joyful. Whenever it was.
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