Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a group of children. Their houses were close together and they spent summers running through the neighborhoods, causing trouble. The four boys and the three girls set off dry ice bombs, (my FBI friends assure me that the statue of limitations ran out long long ago, so I feel comfortable revealing that now) had water fights, rode bikes together, hiked, went TP’ing and doorbell ditched. Did I mention that they lived in a relatively small and sleepy town?
One night, as the successful glow of an exceptionally well done TP job began to wane and the kids began telling stories and jokes, it became obvious that a particular girl and a particular boy felt a particular closeness which made them sit right next to each other. Maybe she was cold and he was warming her arms. Possibly, the stories scared her. But to the rest of the kids, it looked a lot like a first crush.
This went on for a while. The kids hung out and pulled all of their silly pranks and these two spent more and more time off to the side, holding hands or sitting close.
Could the others be blamed for assuming that those two had a little kissing game going? I think not. When the boys were not around, the girls whispered and plotted, giggled and conspired. They talked of the hand holding and the sitting close. And if the truth were to come out, it should be said that the two girls were a wee bit jealous of the fact that their friend had scored a boyfriend first, leaving them to drink in the accounts of true love and devotion, dreaming of a perfect boyfriend of their own. The two girls marched right past longing and settled right into “green with envy”.
Time passed. Friends parted. Some stayed more in touch than others. One of the girls stayed in touch intermittently with several of the boys.
More time passed, and late one night, over an internet chat (which had not yet been invented in the long ago and far away), perfect boyfriend of olden times revealed that all was not as it had seemed. It seems that a little fabrication was heartily applied when stories were passed to eager ears.
It seems that all of the longing sighs, the tales of being kissed by a handsome boy, the whispering of sweet nothings in the ear were nothing more than a young girl’s dreams spoken aloud.
At least, he says he never kissed her.
And for some reason, I can’t stop laughing.