The room was filled with chatter. But it didn’t come from the few that were in the room. No. They were quiet. The chatter came from two little boys in the corner. Talking, laughing, giggling at stupid immature jokes the way boys do when they are 10. I sat on top of my hands, watching intently. The boy on the right, the one with pretty blue eyes had caught my eye. He was telling the black little boy something he found particularly funny. His pretty blue eyes twinkled. The black little boy laughed. The more I looked at them, the more I wanted to laugh with them. I wanted to laugh with the boy with the pretty blue eyes. I think he felt my gaze because he looked my way. He smiled when he saw me, and I smiled back. He had a nice smile. I looked away. I wanted to know his name. Their chatter became more hushed as they talked about something only they knew. I wanted to talk with them as well. I kept staring. The way little dimples would appear when he smiled intrigued me.

He turned for the second time. This time, his pretty blue eyes stayed locked into mine. They were clear blue. So pretty. He stood up, and I looked away. He came towards me. His little dimples showed, his pretty blue eyes twinkled, my heart skipped a beat. The little black boy sat besides me and the boy with the pretty blue eyes sat in front of me. He said hi. I shied my eyes from his. The black little boy asked my name. I gave it to him. The boy with the pretty blue eyes introduced the black little boy then he introduced himself. I liked his name. It sounded nice. I told him so. He laughed. He took my hand and the butterflies in my tummy soared. He said my name and pronounced us friends.

That day 15 years later, the boy with the pretty blue eyes would hold my hand the same way as we were pronounced husband and wife.