The first time we fought, I tell people we were in the 2nd grade.
Truth is, it might have been 3rd, but neither of us remember anymore so at some point we resigned ourselves to this story.
End of the day– walking out of class- you snuck up behind me and pulled on the tail of my backpack.
Your bag isn’t cool, you said, brushing past.
It’s Lion King, I said.
No one wears those. You pointed at your back. We wear Jansport.
I don’t like Jansport, I said.
Then you’re not very cool, you said.
What follows next is hazy – we’d admit – but after telling the story for 20 years, we’ve agreed that you were being obnoxious and at some point I turned, fist clenched, and socked you in the face.
“SHUT UP,” I yelled, bearing down on your cheek.
You grinned in response.
I glared.
Perhaps, I should have known then.
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