And then we left school at the end of the last day. Jerome and I started to walk home. It would take a long time, so that we could avoid the Chinese food restaurant, the specialty meat shop and any houses with green paint. These things break my rules, so we don’t walk past them. We walked silently because I didn’t have anything to say, and small talk makes no sense. I carefully balanced on the curb, stepping around the cracks and walking in a circle around each parked car. I don’t know why I do the things I do, but I have to. These are the patterns that hold my world together. We walked into the chocolate shop. I got a single square of milk chocolate, and Jerome got a lemon truffle. Some people see Jerome and I and don’t understand how we can be pieces of a single puzzle, but it is through our differences that we complete each other. Jerome is 6 feet tall, reckless and considers rules to be optional. I’m 4 foot 2, cautious to a fault and can’t function without copious rules. But beyond the obvious, we both enjoy a certain rhythm to life, have names that start with J and are exactly two syllables in length, Julie and Jerome, we’re avid star gazers and we both notice flowers growing along the road. Most of all Jerome understands me. He sees my patterns and instead of seeing erratic behavior, he comprehends the rhythms of my life. He sings the songs that bring the deepest corners of my soul to life and speaks the words the hover in the air above my hair. Jerome doesn’t see me as a special ed kid, a diseased and flawed person, he sees me for who I am. I love Jerome, I love the way he can break the rules that keep me in a glass box. I love the way he stands up for right in the world, for any person who can’t speak. I love how he walks, drifting with each step rather than keeping to a straight line. I love how he is smart, and understand that he will have to leave me soon, go to college and become something more. I would never want to hold him back. He offered to stay, fought for my right to stand beside the other members of my class on our final night. I told him to go. He said he would come back. I said I would work hard. He said to stay myself. We walked to up my front steps, and stared at each other.

“You have beautiful eyes.” I told him in my monotone drawl. He stroked my hair and looked longingly at my mouth. Kissing is unsanitary, another’s spit inside of my own mouth, against the rules. He pecked my forehead and turned to go. I grabbed his arm, not wanting to lose him, and drew his lips to mine. Slowly I let go, releasing myself into a scary unpredictable realm. I kissed him softly, but he didn’t kiss back, I looked at him, concerned because this felt right. “Are you sure?” he asked softly. I shook my head, “But that’s ok this time” I whispered. He nodded and wrapped his arms around me. Kissing me, his 3 year girlfriend for the first time. When it was over, I wished the warm pressure of his mouth had remained on mine forever. “I like kisses” I said, a tear running down my cheek. “I’ll bring you more” he promised. “Statistically speaking, you won’t come back.” I recited, my voice trembling. “Those statistics don’t know you Julie and they don’t know me.” He gave me a final hug. And then he left me on my front porch.