We were both young. I could tell he was still young enough to believe himself invincible. I spotted him moving like an elemental on the other side of the room and downed my drink. The spirits from the bar quelled my nerves and I crossed to join him. I hadn’t done anything like this before. We talked for an hour until we were both drunk. He, more drunk from love than drink. He was 22. I was 23. I will always remember the first.
The first time I saw one, I was seven. That was the night the neighbor-girl Cindy died. We were friends. It was summertime and hot and the marsh was foggy and the frogs were all going at once, making an awful racket with their obnoxious noises.