Brigitte

I was just nine - you caught my eye, you stunned me with your smile. I stood with friends when you swayed by, I thought of you a while. You were thirteen and looked to me like...well...you had it all. You wore your skirt above the knee and rolled your hips - a Doll! My love for you stayed classified, I kept this secret for five years, when in a school bicycle ride your chain came off the gears. I flew to you, with flailing arms, discouraged other helpers. My brain had triggered two alarms 'bout horny little yelpers. You stabilised the bicycle, I fiddled with the stupid chain. Your hand touched mine - an icicle- remained there, yes, that hint was plain. A date? My mother asked with mock surprise. At 14, are you growing up? And then she told me words so stern and wise and said that dating now would be a real flop. She was right, we stayed until the curfew. Talked about, well...mostly German Lit., and when there were just 15 minutes left I tell you, I held her hand and squeezed a little bit. Well, it was the obvious dilemma, on one hand here was Brigitte, she was so much cuter than my classmate Emma. I had good taste but I was just a midget! Brigitte then accepted our bond, over decades we did keep in touch. Crucial learnings our kinship spawned even though we didn't hold each other much. And today I am not sad. When I think of her I miss her. Only, sometimes do I wonder why in all these years and decades I just never had the guts to kiss her. I still remember looking at her hips, but never ever did we even talk about our lips. For: Brigitte