Last week my mom bought a scooter.
This scooter, to be exact.
I wanted one too…
so I took some pictures to see how I looked.
Awesome, is the answer.
When my mom was doing the actual purchasing, the woman behind the counter mentioned that she knows someone who has the same names as my mom (Catherine Rose).
My mom told her that when we were growing up, I had a friend who had a little sister whose name was also Catherine Rose. She turned to me and said, ‘you remember, Brian blah-didee-blah’s little sister?’
When I was about five, Brian blah-didee-blah lived in our neighborhood. I remember exactly three things about him.
- He was in Boy Scouts.
- He had a wooden fence in front of his house.
- This one time I kissed him and then his family moved away and I thought it was my fault.
Let’s revisit that last one. I kissed him (on the cheek, I think, but still – a kiss), and then they moved. Like the next week. I didn’t even see him again, that I remember.
I’m sure that his parents had been planning the move. I might have even heard about it, at some point, and forgotten. Five year old brains are not known for their fact retention, you know?
It’s just that the timing made me think that it was linked. I kissed him and then they left.
It wasn’t until the day at the scooter store that I remembered this whole thing. I apparently just decided it was my fault and moved on. Until last week, I never revisited the event as an adult, to relieve my five year old self of culpability. There was just a little part of my brain that thought that I forced an entire family out of their hometown.
So, Brian, even though I know now that it’s unlikely that my slutty five year old ways drove you away, I want to apologize for the fact that I apparently thought that they did for 25 years and failed to feel guilty about it.
I hope that new town worked out for ya.
