Remembering Love Like I’m Eight
How a long-lost childhood friend taught me to love again
My first wedding happened in my parents’ basement in 1996.
I was eight years old, and the groom was my best friend Alex.
We thought that marriage meant promising to be best friends forever.
Three years earlier, my mother answered a knock at the door to find a neighbor holding her son by the hand.
She introduced him as Alex, “AKA the spawn of Satan,” then asked if I could come out and play.
We were inseparable from that moment.
Alex and I were friends in a boundless childlike way, unburdened by differences in gender or family or interests. We were obsessed with play, fun, and the Power Rangers. We climbed trees, rode bikes, played games, and invented new games to play.
Being best friends was the embodiment of pure joy and unconditional love.
Which is why, in 1996, we stood tall on plastic Little Tikes chairs in my basement, surrounded by tacky wood paneled walls and garish nineties carpet, and we promised to love each other.
And then we jumped on my bed to the Space Jam soundtrack, aggressively lip syncing.
