A catalog of every boy I’ve ever loved.

January 25, 2012

6: I am counting the centimeters between our knees at story time and when you go to push yourself up, our hands touch and this is no accident, I think, so at lunch I tell you that I love you and you, you tell me you are dating Jacqueline from Mrs. Robinson’s class.

15: You tell me you love me on AIM in Papyrus font, highlighted in army green. In your profile there is an excerpt from Anti-Flag’s “Red, White, and Brainwashed” and a smiley face for me. I make you a present: an empty Vans shoebox thick with Mod-Podge and magazine clippings. You make out with Danielle Goss.

17: At an accidental art gallery off Congress and Park you cup your hands over my ears so that I can see the painting more clearly, in silence. You kiss the back of my head and whisper, “I’m on shrooms.”

19: A blizzard brings record snow and so we live in your dorm room bed, eyes locked for hours until you weep, into my chest, swearing between heaves that you have just found God in my face. A year later the way your thumb bends when you hold a toothbrush or a pen makes me want to vomit. You kiss Jeannette, so I slap you, then call you every night until I meet Darren.

21: I read your diary in Seattle and I don’t even feel bad about it. You are at work grinding coffee and I’m sitting on your bedroom floor, tallying the things you love about me: my breasts, my cooking, my pinky toes. I start to put it down, but I want to digest all of you. That’s when I learn your lies too: Monique, Robin, Kathy, HPV.

23: You like my chicken and dumplings and my dad calls you to talk about Exit Through the Gift Shop and when you come home at night you tell my neck you like finding me in our apartment and if my hands are cold from December air I put them over your eyes and you say, “Ahhh.”

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