He says I need to create a gap, a void, for good things to come in. I need to make room. The sun is shining in our eyes and we squint at it, hoping it will get smaller or go away and not bother us.
My first boyfriend was Andy Gaffman. I remember watching Lifesavers explode in his mouth on a camping trip. We were partnered up; one of us had to chew on candies and the other watched. He volunteered to chew, so I looked inside his mouth as light sprang forth, a miracle, bright and minty. The girls on the trip thought it was romantic we shared a moment like that together. But I didn't like him. Only a piece of my heart felt something then, a piece that dropped to my stomach because a boy liked me and wanted me. I had wanted him to be someone else, and that, I thought, was very romantic.