At age 12 he was like me.
Tall for his age. Uncooperative hair.
I moved away and he sent letters:
“I’m growing up! I’m kicking ass! I’m dating girls!”
I didn’t believe it.
Five years later, I was back in town for a visit. His mom was gone.
Copies of High Times magazine spun out over the glass coffee table.
And it was true — he was a ladies’ man. Muscled. Martial arts master.
“Where did you come from?”
We went out that afternoon and drank vodka in the daylight.
He showed me some kung fu moves in a completely non-threatening way.
Later I met up with friends of my parents
and tried to pretend I was sober over
lasagna and Seven Up.
Was he still good at math? I have to assume
he was still good at math.
**** Legends from My Childhood, #3, card art by Whitney F.
