I was small and he would toss me across the pool over his head, again and again, and I believed he could never get tired because he was grinning and strong and like a superhero. He was a grown man with only sons, but he'd watch me jump on the trampoline and let me sit in his lap; he'd even tickle-scratch my back while I sat there. I was small and I adored him. I liked throwing slobbery tennis balls for his dog. I liked his sons and how one let me watch him play Pokemon Colosseum and the other one let me watch him play Sims. I liked his mom; she was old and Italian and I remember one time she gave me a teddy bear. I liked his look, his full head of black hair and his tan skin; he was different from my dad, he was younger, and darker, and taller. I was small and he was big and I looked up to him.
He disappeared. I didn't understand why back then; I just knew he was gone. I still feel abandoned, sometimes, which I know is silly because he had no responsibility to me. I'm not the kids or wife he let down. And it was all a long time ago, I was only one small girl.
When we saw him in the store tonight, I felt like I wanted to run away. It was uncomfortable and he seemed almost surprised that I had grown. I'm not little anymore, though.
As far as he goes, there isn't much changed, a bit of silver in his sideburns. He's got a pretty girlfriend and two pretty, tiny kids. I feel like after the adults finished their awkward chatting and we parted ways, he talked to her about us. Maybe I'm just paranoid. They might have gone off and talked about anything else. I'm sure there are much more important things on his mind.
I don't have a good memory, but I remember him.
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