She buttered her bread, like the REO Speedwagon days of a boy who would never be her boyfriend. Slow and pondering, like loops in the rink. How that silver strobe light dazzled and his sweet warm hand was always sweaty just like hers was, and she'd have other crushes, but none would be like his, the first, the notes and all his tender secrets that he kept until the day he blew his brains out. She heard the news, up in her adulthood, and only saw his smiling innocence, his face with all his dimples, his curls and his blondness: his soft and little hands, how her stomach jumped those few times she had touched them.