I met him in high school Chemistry class. When I remembered this today, I laughed out loud. Top down, driving up Laurel Canyon in the evening commute traffic. My mind, my memories were elsewhere.
In the peugeot. His peugeot.
Savoring our first kiss. He was driving. I believe I was sitting on his lap. Eyes closed, we "changed" at least 3 lanes. It's amazing we didn't crash. That first kiss. Such anticipation. Sweet fulfillment.
I loved his car. It was a peugeot. Yeah, yeah, I know all the negative car comments about peugeots. I still loved it. I still love them.
I remember the fields out by the airport. Once his old riding team passed his car pulled over to the side. I don't know if he was embarrassed or proud.
For a moment I wonder what he's like now, what he's doing. But really, I don't want to know. I want to remember him at 17. I want to remember that field at dusk. Our first kiss. The Cure in his basement. His haircut. The Jane's Addiction cassette tape.
He was fine. So so fine. What was my problem? I'm the one that fucked it up. What can you expect from a 16 year old girl?
Why this memory now? A few weeks ago, a red Peugeot was parked in the driveway of a house down the street. I didn't remember this then. But today. Tonight. As I drove into the valley, I savored the memories.
I'll never forget that field at dusk, with him, in his peugeot.