A New Toy

Her husband spent a good deal more time with her, of course, and that bothered me. For his part, he couldn't help being afraid that she was having more fun with me. He didn't particularly believe that I was anything special. He knew me, he liked me, but it was easy for him to see that it was the shine, the newness of me that held her. I was something novel for her. A brand-new toy.

He probably knew early on what I did not: that there was time for me to bore her yet. That's the way it would happen. But for now, I was interesting, the shiny new toy. A steadfastly passionate boy. The handsome intelligent matron with children who now are older than I was then, the lady who loved my poetry, couldn't help but want to pet me.

That was me at 26. God rest his soul.

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