I stopped by the liquor store on my lunch break and saw him standing beside a display of pineapple ale. It had been nearly five years since we were high school seniors, since he looked through me in the busy halls. He wasn’t gay. I was gay. He hadn’t kissed me. I had kissed him. In the liquor store, his eyes grew. I grabbed a bottle of red; it was warm. He turned and stepped out onto the parking lot without his ale. Had he seen me? No, he couldn’t have. He never saw me. Only I had seen him.
Eric Brown lives and writes in a small Ohio town where he teaches English and literature. Eric is passionate about storytelling and education.