Today is the 10th anniversary of Peter Prifti’s passing.
By Peter Prifti
We never dated, Maxine and I… never kissed, never held hands the way teenagers do. I just adored her from afar.
One day, however, quite by chance, we met and talked for a few minutes. It happened in the morning on my way to High School. I say her coming out of her home, half a block down a side street, and stopped for her. She smiled and kept walking toward me on her flat, moccasin shoes and bare legs. My pulse quickened and I flushed with excitement and bewilderment. As she drew nearer with each step, the world around me began to dissolve and disappear.
“Good morning!” I said in a trembling voice.
‘Good morning,” she replied calmly.
“How are you? I continued, wondering what I was going to say next, afraid I would be tongue-tied.
“Just fine, how’s yourself?”
She was also walking to school that morning, so we walked together. For about twenty magic-filled minutes we walked together, side by side. For twenty minutes I heard the music of her voice and looked at her lovely face. Each time she looked at me, each time she smiled, I was in Heaven. If only we could walk together like this to school every morning I said to myself.
What did we talk about? Nothing much, just small talk. I did not tell her I loved her. I figure I didn’t have to. She could see that I was infatuated with her. So we kept walking and talking. Soon, all too soon, we arrived at school and went our separatë ways, Maxine to her class, and I to mine.
We continued on our separate ways ever after.
San Diego, California
June 26, 1988