Longing

On the train yesterday, there was a girl/woman, right on the 18-19-20 year old border between the two, who was a perfect blend of Anne Preston and Sharon Bell from back in the day, when those two ruled the roost at Guy B. Phillips Junior High School, particularly those of us a year younger than them.

And I was transported back to a time before lust, when we were ruled by something that could only be termed longing, as if for ethereal medieval maidens, these doe-eyed, sharp-nosed Wasp icons in kelly green. To a time when the one we called "Cool" could stand on the street in front of Purdy's and inform us that he had been counting his pubic hairs and that he had gone above a hundred. Back to when we were all just getting started.

And the girl on the train was nestled up to a floppy, ruddy-cheeked dude in a knit cap, as if headed off to X-games qualifying. The dude I never quite was back then.