Pucker Up, My Friends

We all got a paper bag for Valentine's Day taped to the chalkboard.

Just leave your notes in classmates' bags, our teacher told us.

I had a wad of Luv You and Sweet Thing messages to deliver, but I didn't want to be first. I had no idea that love needs you to take the first step sometimes, or not.

By the time the principal fetched us bus five riders, I was on fire. I wanted my bag full of meaningless notes. I wanted to read the bad handwriting from Dave or Joe or Billy or John above cartoon print that said, You're Cute, or, Pucker Up. I wanted to hold a guy's hand. I had never done that before. But what would we say to each other while we looked at our fat, kid fingers?

Love is an unflinching devotion that can grow tired, frustrated, and sad, but never thin. It can cling or let go, but won't fade. There was no informative note for that in the third grade when I prayed for ice cream or new shoes and had no idea that love was agony when it wasn't joy, and nobody ever signed the card.