Adam

Adam was different. He was a self-proclaimed anarchist, and at 15, I was instantly smitten. He had long, ash brown hair and rectangle glasses. He wore a Shins tshirt- and once I saw his, I screen printed my own. I had never spoken to him before, but one night, in the cold, damp dwellings of the contemporary house that my parents owned, I told my aunt that I had a crush. She pressured me to call him, and ask him to come to the Shins concert in a few months- she said she would chaperone.

Feverishly, I looked through the directory that documented every student in our highschool. His mother answered, but he soon came to the phone. Neither of us had a cellphone, so I stretched the coiled chord of my house phone as far away from the kitchen as possible, but the acoustics of our house didn’t allow for privacy. We talked for a bit, but soon enough he told me that his parents might not let him go to a concert on a school night.

The next day, I wore my red-laced pumas and dark grey sweatpants to school, but ran into Adam on the way to gym class. I wasn’t embarrassed, and he seemed interested to talk. I was the only girl in our class with that much confidence- that i was sure of. We never stopped being together after that- even though i wore sandals in the winter, and overalls whenever possible.

He was the first person I ever straddled, though i’m not sure how i knew to do this. We were in his parent’s guest bedroom. There was a futon, and we were alone. I was happy, but I knew that we didn’t have much time.

Our relationship was short, but sweet, and ended with me dumping him after I didn’t like his haircut.

Years later, we would be photographed in the yearbook together.
Me with a shaved head and a blue fur coat. 

Devon Dadoly