Michael tells of sleep-overs, you in tattered grey sweatpants and him in bargain store superhero pajamas, and I picture the two of you giggling under Captain Astro blankets in Michael’s room.

Lindsay tells of late-night study sessions, you spiking the punch at fraternity parties, getting wasted and stupid and fucking her in the backseat of her parents car.

Debbie tells of the celebration when your first commercial aired on local television, drinking cheap wine and toasting your success.

Sometimes the weight of your years makes me question the wisdom of us.

Then you kiss me, and my doubts fade away.