I was ten years old and he was seven years old. He lived across the street in this big house right on the corner. I lived in cooperative housing with a lot of low income families and single mothers. Regardless of the class difference, we became friends. His parents invited me over to play. The first few times it was just the two of us, until one day, a brown haired, browned eyed boy walked through the doors. It was older brother. Not only was he older than him, but he was two years older than me.
I instantly became infatuated with him. At the time I was a “tomboy” who loved to wear baggy clothes that I picked out of a Salvation Army bin. Hair so fresh and clean right out of the shower. No brushing or combing necessary. And I thought I looked great. I felt cool, comfortable and myself. All of that changed when I met the boy across the streets’ older brother. They didn’t need to invite me over anymore, I would simply show up. His older brother was nice to me, the first boy that ever really gave me positive attention.
I noticed that right away and thought that maybe he would like me as more than a friend if I was less of a “tomboy”. Before I would make my way to their house, I would check myself out in the mirror. Combed? Check. Fitted clothes? Check. Nail polish? Check. I showed up, he would invite me in to watch some 90’s TV series that I can’t recall the name of and he offered me a bowl of ice cream. I ate it in less than 2 minutes, he offered me a second bowl. The nail polish must be working, I thought to myself.