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Writer's pictureBetty Sullivan

When I Was Younger

I have always been close to you. Remember, you were just a little boy, and we snuggled together. We watched our favorite show and ate popcorn. I always thought your mom seemed upset about our special bond.


Baths were a nightly ritual as I scrubbed your body, helping you get your jammies on. Then, enthrall you with stories of fictional adventures. You, the valiant warrior, and I, the princess that needs saving.


As you got a few years older, you had terrible growing pains. Rubbing your back and legs for hours until our friend, Mr sleepy, visited you. Sometimes I thought you faked the severity of your pain so that I would rub you down.

I didn’t mind. Enjoyed it maybe more than I should have.


I taught you how to ride your first bike. When you fell off the swing and broke your arm at twelve, I was the one that nursed you back to health. Spending weeks giving you a bath and getting you dressed to make sure you didn’t get your cast wet.


Storms terrified you. On those nights, you crawled into bed with me. I held you close, and you snuggled deep next to me. You eventually fell asleep. Those were beautiful times for us.


When you reached adolescence, we became even closer. You pulled away from the authority of your mom. You had your first school crush. Teaching you about what it means to be in love and the crushing pain of heartbreak.


I kissed your wounds when she accompanied another boy to the school dance. Our lips touched that night and when I didn’t pull away, you seized the opportunity and kissed me deeper. I saw the grin you had on your face. I smiled too and tickled you.


It was an amazing night and I remember sitting outside talking to your mom, thinking about you the whole time. I felt a mix of shame and exhilarating love for you.

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