Sunday Scribblings: Crush

Crush: “an intense and usually passing infatuation”

Paris, France, summer of ’69, it happened. Southern California girl, 17, meets east coast boarding school boy, four years my junior. “He’s your brother’s age”, a voice in my head repeated.
Sandy colored hair, freckles, and speaking flawless French, it was mutual attraction. A spark ignited at the first meeting. I had a boyfriend at home but here I was in France for six weeks. “He’s your brother’s age”, a voice in my head repeated.
Recent letters found confirm that within days of reaching Paris, I was already walking the streets with a boy. “He’s your brother’s age”, a voice in my head repeated.
We stole away to secret places at Lycee Michele, practicing French and smoking thin French cigarettes. At times, I melted and felt odd all at once. “He’s your brother’s age”, a voice in my head repeated.
The afternoon that he began talking to me about “speaking in tongues” was the afternoon that my crush began its fade. I was a Presbyterian girl. We did not speak in tongues (unless French kissing counted.) The whole idea of speaking gibberish, wailing and writhing seemed so foreign and weird. “He’s your brother’s age”, a voice in my head repeated.
I kept my distance as much as possible the remaining weeks. Staying in a group pack seemed the better option. Upon returning home, I received one letter from him, still wanting to keep in touch. An east coast boarding school scholar, the same age as my brother. I wonder what direction his life lead him.

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