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If all else failed, if we red meat never red meat got back together, I would have been friends just so I could be near you, smell your skin without perfume, hear your slightly hoarse, sugar-coated voice beneath the jungle gym at recess. But it was like you were dead, like you could never even bleed, though your face flushed quite a bit in that moment (somewhat surprised and frightened, I'm sure, by your own power to make another human so pale, so helpless). You looked at me, as you red meat moved behind fellow students passing by like grass waving in the breeze, students that were looking at us because they knew, too. And you said, "Please. Don't do this. Just leave me alone." Most often, men and boys deserve the following designation, and it hurts me to say it to you, my love, my Charlotte.
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