The first guy I ever really liked, the one who I'd fantasies about being with 'when we grew up', his name was Karl.

He was tall. He'd pat me on the head and call me a short-arse. I had a love/hate thing going on about that. Loved his attention, hated him patting me on the head in such a condescending manner. He knew that, and did it more.

There was always a group of us who'd sit at the same table every art class. Karl and I always sat at one corner of the table. Him on one side of the 90 degrees me on the other.

What I think I liked most about Karl were his hands. Karl had big hands, long fingers, the tip of each one square. Even now I can clearly see his hand wrapped around a pencil at the corner of the table in art class.

He went out with another girl in our class for awhile and during that time she joined our table temporarily. It never really bothered me that he was dating someone else, because I was sure that we'd date when we grew up.

I considered him one of my best friends. I dreamt about him the night he died. He came into my bedroom and waved to me before turning, slinging his school bag over his shoulder and leaving.

.