I remember actual walks around an actual neighborhood, she remembers drinking actual wine cooler from an actual Bartles & James bottle. I remember what felt like a thousand hours of sweaty hand-holding, and she remembers none. She remembers meeting at the block party, everyone else was drunk, I remember the hamburgers from that night. I remember thinking on twelve occasions that she was the worst, and she remembers thinking that my hair needed to be cut, soon and badly and by someone with great skill. It wasn’t going out, it was just long walks at night. We might as well have been teens at the very start of the twentieth century.