I wonder if you remember. There was a song I danced to as a child, now an “oldie-but-goodies” kind of song, self-conscious of you sitting on a grass hill with a friend watching me as I did so. We were young, so very, very young, but the song and the moment stood out because I was told that you liked me. I was too young to make sense of that, but I felt the moment enough to mark it with a song; or maybe it was the song that made the moment mark-able instead. Whatever the case, it was forever embedded in my mind; a child’s first memory of sharing a musical moment with you.

We were young, and as the years went by we were never more than that song, but I knew you were always there. I look back on my journey, through eyes of reflection, and I see you along the way. I don’t know if the song was ever truly heard by you, and I have not a clue if it continued to play; but when I see you now, so many years later, I sometimes wonder if you remember. Maybe not the song . . . but more so the moment, when for the first time in my life, a boy actually told me he liked me.