That Girl

We sat at the table, after dinner, me and my girl. Baroy and N were watching a movie in the other room; neither of us really wanted to see it.

That girl's goal kick is wicked.

Em was telling me about the meeting, that afternoon, of her middle school's environmental club. We were giggling, then straight-out laughing, then gasping for breath, tears streaming down our faces. (You had to be there.)

Later, Em talked about walking home afterward with her friend M. "Because it was so cold," she said, "we decided to stop at Starbucks on the way, get something warm to drink. It was so much nicer once we were walking with hot coffee* in our hands."

I smiled, seeing it, knowing that feeling. Then stopped. Everything stopped. Even my heart, for just a second.

"Oh my god," I said, more to myself than to her. "I can't believe you're there already. That you're that girl. That 'decided to stop for some coffee on the way home' girl. And I can't believe that it feels totally OK to me. If I don't think about it too much."

She grinned. "I was thinking almost the same thing," she said. "I sorta can't believe I'm that girl either."


And then she kissed me as she left to study for her history test, saying, "I really love having these talks with you."


That girl. Oh, that girl.



*Because my mother reads here, and because I can already hear her, let me say this: Decaf. On the same block as the school. Still light out. Let her father know she'd be a few minutes late. It's all good.