She handed me the note so covertly and stealthily that everyone could notice. It was a feeling better than sex, drugs, or even rock and roll, regardless of the fact that I was eleven years old and had only enjoyed one of those so far (can’t remember which one). But I knew this was love, baby!
I would hold onto the note all day, never reading or releasing it until I got home and into the confines of my poster museum of a room. Door locked shut, window closed, I was safe and unknown to the world.
You see, this wasn’t just love, this was dirty love – she said outlandish things in these notes, things that would have me thrown out, abandoned by my parents, sent to jail, and put away for life. She said things like “I think you’re cute” or “wanna hold hands?”
I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was a man. This was big boy stuff. Then I’d stash it in a dresser and watched some Spongebob.