Memphis Saltos

Sam

Sam loves me. He hangs on my every word as I explain to him how a snowflake is formed. He listens to me intently with a youthful, crease-free face and eyes that are the color of hazelnuts. He always asks me to sit next to him on the couch when he wants to watch a movie. Then he tries to tickle my neck. When I'm hungry he runs to get me some almonds.

"You take good care of me Sam," I smile at him. "I take good care of you Memphis," he tells me with a voice cracking with such naiveté I can only envy him.

Sam thinks I hung the moon. He scolds his father for making fun of my poor skiing. "It isn't NICE to make fun of her!" he yells at him. At the end of the day he tells me "Memphis, let's have a BIG adventure together!" So we go outside, sit in the dark and circle our glow sticks around and around while a stray cat watches us curiously; that is our adventure. The next day we sit on the snow mobile together while his dad streaks through the forest. I show Sam how to screech very loud and high in the driver's ear; that is my adventure.

Sam is 4 years old, the son of a friend of mine. Little crushes like these are what oil the cogs of the sometimes monotonous grind of life.