Rearview mirror

My mom looked up in the rearview mirror and saw me kissing the boy next to me in the back seat. We were on our way home from visiting my teacher's farm and he was the only one left to be dropped off. We were five.

His name was Matthew Paul Miller and while I can't remember the kiss, I can remember the moment in kindergarten when he leaned over and whispered that middle name in my ear. I can remember his blond pixie good looks--my memory enhanced by seeing old school pictures.

And I can remember seeing him again when we were in middle school and I was in a math competition at his school. His blond hair darkened and his body thickened, he didn't seem much taller. I didn't say anything to him. I just hugged the memory of those moments close to me, as I still do when I look in the rearview mirror.