I have no doubt it is true!

My Max was named Brent…and yes, I still remember his last name but unlike you, I’m too afraid he’ll find me again if I write it;)!

I delighted in my walks home from school as I sought treasure. They were peaceful. And I’d collect cats. Daily. At least until I became smarter. And daily I’d lie to my mother that “it just followed me home…” to which she’d always reply, “In your arms?” Oh.

We’d climb in the car and I’d have to take the cat back. There was a cat hoarder a block away so it was easy to find a new treasure.

One afternoon absorbed in my hunting or some story in my head, I was suddenly confronted by Brent on his bicycle. He wouldn’t let me pass unless I kissed him! Ick!

We had just been told that day in class that he was moving away to another state. He bullied everyone, although his parents did have the spookiest set up every Halloween. Maybe, at best, we felt ambivalent?

I didn’t kiss him that day or any other. My mother told me that he had probably always “liked” me so bullied me because boys were that way. Thus setting up a really screwed up view of half the world had I chosen to believe her. After all, he bullied everyone. I doubted he wanted to kiss us all.