Dominic

Dom and I met in rather interesting circumstances. One could even say go as far as to say it was the kind of situation one tells their grandchildren about. In fact, up until recently, I had planned on doing just that.

It was lunch and I was sitting on the bottom step of the school's double-back stairwell. I was engrossed in some sort of novel and was completely unaware of the apparent danger of my position. Of course, who really expects to be landed on by a flying teenager guy?

He flew down the stairs, and by flew I mean he was purposefully flinging himself at high velocity over the railing, literally landing in my lap. As he would explain later, he was "doing parkour." Because his feet landed on my legs, not exactly the solid stair he was expecting, he ended up losing his balance and bruising himself as well as me, with his fall. It was the first, and hopefully will be the only, time I've gotten a black eye due to someone's elbow. Even a cute someone's elbow is not a recommended thing in which to slam one's face.

Dom, been in our school only two weeks at that point, was forbidden from "hooligan gymnastics resulting in physical contact with female classmates, no, make that any hooligan gymnastics whatsoever," as our principal put it. 

Dom is cute, funny, smart and all those other things girls say they want in a guy. To be sure, I wanted those things too. The more I found out about him, the more I liked him. He shared with me things he'd never told a soul before. I found out about his dream to become a radio talk show host, his belief that technology complicated life, his love of the Beatles and his intense fascination with the middle ages.

I sigh. All this remembering... again my eyes drift to the window and the empty lawn. Algebra is the last thing on my mind. Downstairs I can hear my father berating my mother again and the sounds of low instrumental music seeping from Michael's room across the hall.

The End

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