I sit down on the chair at the island, dropping my backpack to the floor beside me. My mom has a newspaper in her hand and we chat about how my day was. She looks down at the paper and then back up at me, her bangs falling into her eyes. “Do you remember JJ?” she asks me. “Of course I do,” I tell her, wondering why she’d ask me a question like that. He was my first real love. He was the first boy I ever said those terrifying words to. I love you. She slides the newspaper…
I’ve been reluctant to write about the German. Part of me felt like as soon as I did, then that was it. I’d just be writing a memory. And I didn’t want him to be a memory for everyone to read about. I wanted him to be real. I wanted those days to stay fresh in my head. I wanted them to be a comfort when I was having the constant Vienna withdrawals I’d been having lately. But I can’t keep him in my head forever. He’s…
