We met in a hotel swimming pool when we were children somewhere out West. I remember she had light freckles and large eyes. We spoke so easily, and I wanted to drown when her dad called her away, to bed. We never spoke again.
Sometimes, not often, I remember this, and the dull tight echo of an ache empties my chest. I remember staring forlornly out the back window, under an orange sun as the landscape slid away.
She looked back at me and didn’t want to leave, I think. It is hard to remember.