Tony and I knew each other since I was three and he was two. We lived on the same street and were good friends.
During the summer of my ninth year, Tony grabbed me and dragged me into the tent his father had set up in the backyard. He said he wanted to talk to me and sat on the edge of the cot just inside the door. I sat next to him. Then he looked at me with this very serious expression and said, "I like you!"
I smiled and replied, "I like you too!"
The cot was canvass and had a large rip down the center suddenly Tony fell backwards through it. I jumped up and screamed his name. There was blood all over the tent floor. I ran and got his mother. After a few stitches, he was fine but he wouldn't talk to me or even look at me.
I thought he blamed me for what happened and this pained me greatly. About a week later, he grabbed me forcefully and drug me back under the tree near the tent's door. I was terrified that he was going to hurt me because he'd never been so rough with me before; but he just stood there staring at me without saying a word. I made some excuse and ran to follow the others into the house.
Thus ended our less than five-minute romance! Looking back as an adult, I realize that he was leaning over to kiss me when he fell.
Copyright © 2004 Kelly Steed. All Rights Reserved.
This was first published in the June/July 2005 edition of the Writer Advice eZine in their A Reader Writes Column.
