Hugs and kisses

The first night I met Donell I made out with him in a closet. (I was a classy 16-year-old like that). So, it’s somehow poetic that first perfect anything we spent together ended without so much as a kiss on the cheek.

I like to tell people that I went to prom with Donell because I feel like it makes things more legit. I mean, we really did go to my senior prom together, and it seems like normal people stay in touch with their old prom dates, right?

Sure, prom was awful. I’m sorry Donell, if you’re reading this and you remember it differently. But for me, the highlights included you ignoring me, my dress ripping and an exhausting night of me trying to figure out how to fix things.

Actually, I wouldn’t really be surprised if Donell didn’t even remember going to prom with me. He’s lived a lot of life since then. He’s gotten his crap together, I think.

He lives in Louisiana now, and works a really important job, where as far I can tell he’s found financial security, something both of us lacked growing up. He’s found God, and priorities and maturity.

He’s in town this week, and so we spent yesterday afternoon together. Strolling around downtown Naperville, looking through bookstores, and eating deep dish pizzas. Then, he drove me home in his little black convertible while the perfect amount of wind filled the air and Christian rock played on the radio. I’ll give the boy one thing, he knows the way to my heart.

And really, it was a perfect and lovely afternoon. He didn’t ignore me, none of my clothes ripped, and instead of feeling exhausted afterward, I was refreshed.

I kind of fell for him again. You know?

And when he was leaving, I was hoping to head into a closet somewhere, but all he did was give me a hug good-bye. A real hug. The kind of hug that shows you’re really friends with someone. The kind of hug that lasts five minutes. The kind of hug that’s worth more than a thousand cheap kisses in any closet anywhere.

And it was perfect.

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