March 16, 2019:

She threatened to spit on my windbreaker.

I told her, "If you do that I'll never speak to you again." She did, and, I didn't.

Looking back I realize how mean that was. Granted I was the organizer of nearly everything the kids did, it effectively ostracized her from the neighborhood, so that, no longer invited, she sat at home with her brother while the rest of us rode bikes or played kick-the-can or held furtive Truth or Dare games once the hormones kicked in.

It was probably not the wisest move from the POV of adolescent sexuality. She liked me, we'd already been to second base. We might have experienced awkward but relatively ordinary teenageries if not for that prideful act of stubborn stupidity. On my part, I mean.

I dunno what her later life was. We'd pass in the hall at school from time to time, look into each other's eyes, not say a word. My future was depression, drugs, isolation, rebellion. Probably it would have been anyway. Or perhaps the isolation wouldn't have been so extreme.