Memoirs of a Fat Girl

When Sandy and I hooked up again last August, I thought of Asad briefly and the irony of it all. Would he have been understanding, I wonder, if he knew that the one boy I could never forget, the boy I never let myself forget, is that man I’m with today?

Life is full of surprises. Sandy and I talk about the past every now and then, telling each other the things we would never, could never say during the awkwardness of our teen years.

“Why did you like me so much?” he asked me once, referring of course to our “emotional tryst,” if you will, of yesteryear.

He has a lot of reason to ask. It isn’t often that you still think of a high school crush well into your 30’s, to the point where it drives you to email.

“I don’t know, I just did,” I replied back, still momentarily shy to confess that from the moment we met, everything clicked and started to make sense. Even at the sweet age of 16 I recognized that with him, it all fit. It still does.

A few months ago I was going through some old boxes and I happened to find my 11th grade day planner, full of the scrawlings of the busy life of a junior, and as I was flipping through it I saw a big red circle around June 13th, 1992. Inside the circle I’d written all in caps, THE PROM.

Exactly 15 years later, after a sushi dinner and some time with family, Sandy and I celebrated our little anniversary at his house. There were no expensive outfits, no flowers, no fancy boats, but we recreated our magical moment with a dance in his kitchen instead.

“Ace?”

“Yes, Cheech?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Boy, you’re tall.”

“I know.”