past-perfect

The other day our friend Chris was talking about how with Leila he has the sense of being part of someone's past. I know what he means. For her, everything is the future. All of what we are doing now will someday make up the tapestry of her childhood, her past.

I imagine her, at seventeen, beautiful and awkward like teenage girls are, sitting in some boy's car talking about her crazy parents and the shit they did when she was young. I imagine there will be stories of camping trips, rides on the backs of motorcycles, a black and white dog called Norton, travel to strange places, and how her parents didn't have cable but did let her watch the Beatles movie Yellow Submarine as many times as she wanted.

And I hope that the me of her memory loves her as much as the one writing this does.