“Glenn Wager,” I now said. “I haven’t seen him since he left for college years ago. University of Oregon. I guess he stayed up north.”
“Yes. That was disappointing,” replied Mrs. Springer.
After this, I wanted her gone because talk of Glenn Wager had stirred me. I needed to be alone with him, so I purposely let conversation dwindle until she got the idea and toddled off. I thanked her for the brownies as I closed the gate behind her.
* * * *
Glenn had always been the older boy up at the end of the street, friendly and always saying “hello” as he went by. When he was fifteen, my parents decided he was old enough to babysit my nine-year-old self. I’d complained about this, everything from anger to pouting, because being babysat by my crush made me just that, a baby. I was mortified when he’d arrived and my parents left.
First thing he did was turn off the TV. “Let’s do something. TV is such a waste.”