I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was wearing jean shorts and a purple tank top that I loved, and my mother hated.

I remember thinking that I knew what my life plan was. At the very tender age of seven, we had our whole lives planned out.

I was going to own a championship woman’s NBA team. That had been my life goal back then. Ambitious little thing, wasn’t I?

My cousin, Juan (whom I can’t believe Lynn went there and described as ‘the shorter one’) simply wanted to be tall. I’m not kidding either. His goal in life was to grow tall and muscular. Neither one of those goal have been accomplished as of yet just like I don’t own a WNBA team either.

Our friend Justin at that particular stage of our lives had only one goal in mind. His goal that summer was to speak Spanish. It was his ambition to be able to understand my mother and Titi yell at Juan and I for being late for dinner, one too many times.

Juan and I attempted to help out friend out with his ‘goal’ but failed miserably. You should have heard the garbage (there are no other words to describe the butchering of the Spanish language that Justin did) that came out of Justin’s mouth. He was a far cry from properly rolling his r’s. I think he’s still working on it. (i.e. hooking up with Cameron Diaz. I tried to explain to him that she wouldn’t be any help, her daddy speaks Spanish, not her. He doesn’t listen.)

Every morning for an entire school year, I remember Juan and I had to sit through Sesame Street episodes so that Justin learned his word for the day. It’s kind of hysterical to think about it now, but Juan and I were annoyed.

Amazingly something good did come out of his goal reaching that summer. He began calling Juan, Tres. (That was the number for the day on Sesame Street.)

My cousin had been so annoyed with Justin he threatened to not speak to him for the rest of the day. That was huge day in our lives. (I can’t believe I still remember this.) I think that was the first time I ever saw Justin cry. He’d been devastated, I was too. What was I going to do if my two sidekicks never spoke again? My heart squeezes tight at that memory.

Eventually (two hours later) Juan couldn’t stand the separation anxiety and came to his senses. Justin insisted that it was cool that Juan was the third family member with the name, Juan.

I’m not exactly sure how everyone started calling Juan, Trace but if you call Trace anything but that, he flips out. Go figure.

Till this day I don’t think Trace knows that Justin cried. Neither one of them speaks of it. Justin and Trace’s weakness became my strength and I think it’s vice-versa although I won’t go without saying that those two are complete ass-wipes toward me, most of the time.

Back to what I was saying. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. It was mid April on our first day off school for spring break when we saw the truck pull up.

I still remember my first conversation with Jeremy Owens. I remember the exact words we spoke to each other. I remember every detail about that day and I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic when I say this but my life started when I met him. I thought it did, at least.

My first thought on Jeremy Owens? Dreamy.

I remember thinking he was the cutest boy in out school. His dark hair and eyes were what I pictured Prince Charming’s to be like. Those memories I will treasure forever.

He became my first crush. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. My first everything. Thinking back now, even then, I knew that he’d be a huge part of my life. From the first words spoken to the moment I came to terms with my true feelings for him.

Ohh, before I cut this short, because we have a lot to cover, I want to say that I believe ‘rock, paper, scissor’ is a conspiracy.

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Breezy (Remix #2)

My first everything? Prince Charming? Blah. Blah. Blah.

I’m not even sure why she has decided to start this whole thing with how we met Jeremy Owens. What about starting this thing with important details? Like the fact that Trace is indeed short but that she’s shorter than him which makes him taller. So he did reach his goal. But Amanda wouldn’t tell you that, now would she?

Here’s another important detail. How about the fact that she and I have the same birthday? She always tries to skip over everything, she’s done it all her life. She wanted to own an NBA team and yet she always refused to play basketball with me. Go figure on that.

To my defense, let me tell you a few things. First, the Cameron comment? (She thinks I can’t see that she places those comments in parenthesis but I can do the same thing. See?) I didn’t hook up with Cameron for the Spanish speaking abilities or lack thereof. I hooked up with her cause she was hot. Still is, in my opinion.

Secondly, I am a country-ass white boy from Tennessee. Why would I be a natural at rolling my r’s? (Sometimes I question her intelligence.)

Being that she started this thing (I don’t even know what to call it) about Jeremy Owens, I have no choice but to pick up where she left off, more or less.

It’s true that growing up (some more than others) in Shelby Forest didn’t bring much excitement to our lives. And yes it’s hard to admit till this day that when the truck pulled up right across the street from my house, it was exciting, for lack of a better word.

Amanda, Trace and I always made the best out of Shelby Forest, though, still do. You know why? Because Shelby Forest is the shit. (Had to throw that in there)

If it rained, we were forced to play inside. We had two whole options, my house or the Ayala-Reyes house, two doors down. That had been the extent of our problems throughout our young years.

We spent the summers of our elementary years doing what kids our age did. Play. Of course we had an addition to our little group, April of 1988. You guest it. Jeremy Owens, the New Yorker.

I can’t deny that Jeremy and I became good friends. (Not friends like Trace and I were, but friends nonetheless) We both loved basketball, football and video games. I liked a lot of things that he liked and he wanted, I mean liked, everything I liked. Fucker.

Jeremy wasn’t always with us, (Amanda, Trace and I only spent nine hours without contact a day. Dinner. Sleeping.) but on the occasions when Jeremy’s parents would removed the stick out of their asses, Jeremy could come out and play with us.

Our mothers taxied us around for those years. We were good kids, we didn’t cause any trouble. Except that one time that Jeremy, Trace and I threw marbles at Mr. Robinson’s (mean old guy in town) window. We tried blaming the whole thing on Amanda but she was at the dentist at the time. My mother didn’t buy it. I got a spanking that day, that the memory of, makes my butt hurt. I don’t know what happened to Trace or Jeremy and their mother’s but if something made you cry, as a man, you don’t discuss that with each other. It’s a rule.

Other than the occasional little rascal’s stunts we used to pull, we were pretty normal.

Two guys and a girl. Ohh and I guess, Jeremy too.(I can’t forget about ‘her everything’) Normal.

For the record ‘rock, paper, scissor’ is not a conspiracy that Trace and I came up with. Scissors always cuts the paper, rock smashed the scissors and paper covers the rock. Those are the rules. You lost. Or won. Or lost. Oh, never mind. I lost in the long run anyway.