Short Stories

Devon and Love

Devon knew he was in love when he was five. She had long, black hair and a smile that was like sunshine, even if she'd hate that simile. She was also one year, three months, and seventeen days older than him.

It wouldn't be such a big deal - Devon's parents had an age gap of six years, seven months, and three days - except for the fact that she was a first-grader and he was a kindergartener. And no first grader looked twice at a kindergartener, even if they were neighbors.

His sister was sixteen (and four months and two weeks) at the time, and he figured she had some experience with matters of the heart. So when he told her he was in love, he didn't stomp when she started laughing, and didn't walk away when she kept laughing, and didn't cry when she didn't stop laughing.

Finally, she huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf (that was an overly mean comparison, and Devon felt slightly guilty for it) and smiled. Her advice was to invite the subject of his affections over and woo her in his house.

Well, there were two problems with this. For one, Devon needed a plan (which wasn't so much a problem as an additional matter of consideration). For another, he also needed some excuse. Thus far, they had only talked briefly when she still had her tricycle.

For her sixth birthday, she had gotten a brand new bicycle with training wheels. It was pink, and had tassels, and was a source of other girls' envy. Devon wouldn't mind, except for the fact that it was one more item that separated her from him, even put her in some childhood hierarchy above him.

So that meant, for the past two months and three weeks, he had been distant and far-away from her. And she attended a full day of school and he only attended a half-day. The world of first graders would be a mystery to him, if he bothered to care. As it was, he already knew how to read and write and he enjoyed such things as books without pictures and, on occasion, his sister's textbooks.

But after expressing such troubles to his sister, the very next week (three months almost in full, now, without talking to his crush) he found his parents had splurged on a new bike for him. It was a bright, cobalt blue with a loud bell and a fancy horn. They smiled and snickered and wondered and even though it irritated him he was too happy with his new bike.

It brought a new problem. He was exactly one and one-quarter inches too short for it. He had to stretch his legs uncomfortably far and that left him going too slow to catch up with her.

And it was as short as it could go.

So Devon leaned on his brand new one-and-a-quarter-inch too-tall bike and stared as the love of his life rode hers with an elegance that he knew didn't actually exist in a six-year-old. He knew that his affections for her colored her as more beautiful and graceful and intelligent than she actually was.

He also knew that nobody would ever take him seriously, because he was five and she was six, and so his parents tittered about his 'crush'. But a crush was definitely, most certainly, absolutely, not like this.

His sister came out and sat next to him, leaning her head against him and his bike.

"I could babysit," she said, "She's an only child, you know. Mom and Dad could go out on a date that night and I can drag you along and then you could impress her then."

Devon considered this. "I'd need a plan to impress her."

She shrugged. "Impress her with how smart you are."

He looked at her in shock and scoffed. It was an imperious scoff and he had practiced but it left her laughing. He scowled and he stomped.

"Sorry," she said breathily, "That was... that was just such a grown-up thing."