“What do you like about me?” she asked one morning.
We were young then, in high school, with the only responsibility being getting to school every day.
“Your undergarments,” I said.
“I’m serious," she replied.
We were off campus for lunch period and parked in my car in the shade of a big oak tree. I couldn’t keep my hands off her and we kissed over and over and I dreamed about making love to her.
“I was just being honest. You always wear the sexiest underwear, like something a beautiful European model would wear.
“But what about me do you like, do you care about?”
I didn’t know what to say. After all, we were just teenagers. I only wanted to kiss and hold her more than what we were given the time to do so that day.
“Why do you ask?"
She took my hand away from the inside of her jeans.
“I’m going away this summer, to Paris, and I want us to stay together while I’m gone," she said.
“We will," I answered, but I think we both had doubts.
“Can I be honest?" she asked, in between my long kisses.
“Sometimes I have feelings, you know, about people of my own gender. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so."
“I get mixed up. I just don’t know what is right.”
I looked at her and knew she was being open with her heart and feelings.
“Above all else," I said. “Be true to yourself and what you want in life. Your feelings will lead the way and that is what is right.”
I started the car and headed back to campus. I glanced at her face and could tell she felt better about herself and her future.
I gave her one last hug and she said, “I’ll think of you in Paris."
I never saw her again, though I have gone to Paris a few times since then. I wondered where she was when she thought of me, and I always have a warm feeling when people talk about France.