Past: He was my crush in junior high. He had all the characteristics 14-year-old girls adore. The blue eyes. The round face. The brown skin. The blond hair. He even, God help me, had dimples. His name was Peter Quinn. I let him cheat off my spelling tests. I let him snap my bra while pretending to be outraged. I let him sneak a kiss at the school dance, out of sight of our friends and teachers, though he never asked me to dance. It was sloppy. His mouth was cold. I wasn’t expecting that.

Present: Peter Quinn works at the Piggly Wiggly in my neighborhood. I feel like he knows my life about as well as anyone else, even though we hardly say two words to each other. It’s mostly just, “Hey, how ya’ doin’?” and “What’s up?” I wonder if he remembers the cold kiss. He’s still got the dimples and the blue eyes. His hair is darker now and he’s a little too skinny. Too skinny was okay in the 8th grade, but not so much anymore. He’s tall too. At the dance, we were the same height. I think he knows me about as well as anybody because he knows what I buy and whom I buy it with. He knows when I’m getting my period (tampons) and when my mom’s coming to visit (coffee paraphernalia). He knows when I’ve been dumped (Ben and Jerry’s) and when I’ve met a new guy (condoms). He’s seen me come through the store with Dave, Matt and John. He knows that John lasted longer than Matt did, and Dave lasted longer still. He never acknowledges me when I’m with them and vice versa. We act like we had a raging affair rather than a quick kiss twenty years ago.

Future: Peter Quinn will one day be the manager at Piggly Wiggly. He’ll gain some weight and start wearing a tie. He’ll smile at me from the box he calls an office and feel the need to talk to me more than he ever did. He’ll lose sight of my groceries, after all. He’ll see me with my three kids, but never my husband. He’ll be able to tell I’ve gained weight around the middle, but my legs are as lean as ever. I’ll notice he doesn’t wear a wedding band. That’s the only thing I’ll ever really know about him, just like it’s always been. He knows me, but I don’t know him. The boy with the cold kiss.