Confessions of Things I Might Forget (1)

I remember being tired.

We laid down the concrete floor between the rows of empty chairs. I dragged her arm around the waist of my white blouse; she tried to fix our pleated skirts draped askew around our knees. Her body covered my slouched back while most of the student body was in the covered court. They cheered for some sport. It would be the first time I would hear a noisy crowd fade. I was busy sinking into her.

A classmate would walk by the time I would fall asleep. She would ask us if we were making babies.

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