The Memoirs I wish I Could Write, Page 40

sponded. But she knew what was ahead of us wasn't exactly as I explained.

"Your eye's say different." She understood me too well. She looked down, as if she was trying to recall a better time, a time worth remembering. "Do you remember when you told me you liked me, back in my backyard? How embarrassed you were to just tell me that you had feelings for me? I mean, I know it was years ago, back in fourth or fifth grade, bu still. Do you remember that moment, when everything was too happy to be real?" We continued walking, hands apart.

I looked up at her, to signal that I had remembered. She continued, "Most would have been more willing to tell me. I mean, most would have died for a chance to tell me that they loved me, and for me take them serious enough to like them back."

"So, your saying that your too beautiful, too perfect, for me to end it?" I began to grow angry. Who did she think she was?

"I'm trying to say that I accepted you no matter how you felt about yourself. I was trying to say that no matter what you felt like, I knew what I felt towards you." I let go of my shoulders, relieved that I was wrong in my anger, anguished in knowing the future of our encounter.

"Don't do this to me, Jane. Don't make this seem like its my fault. Its him whose holding me back. Its always been his fault. He's the one sto-

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