“And on me.”
My heart began to beat strongly.
Noah and I had been best friends since we were six years old.
We met in first grade because we both disliked raisins.
Our teacher handed out little red boxes to everyone at snack time, and I was secretly hiding mine under a napkin when Noah leaned towards me.
“That’s smart.”
I looked to my side.
He was doing the same thing.
“Do you hate them too?”
“They’re old grapes,” he said seriously.
That was enough.
By lunchtime, we were inseparable.
Noah had Down syndrome, but at six years old, that mattered a lot less to me than the fact that he cheated on dinosaur questions and laughed at my awful drawings.
One afternoon, another boy in the class told Noah that no one would ever marry him.
I still remember the look of disappointment on Noah’s face.
“Someone will love him,” I blurted out.
The boy laughed.
“So you marry him.”
Later, Noah found me alone.
“Chrissy… would you love me?”
At six years old, I had no idea what kind of question that was.
“Maybe.”
Her face lit up.
Then I remembered hearing my older cousin talking about the prom.
“But first we have to go to the prom.”
“What is prom?”
“A dance you go to when you’re almost an adult.”
Noah extended his little finger.
“Promise?”
I hooked mine around his.
“Promise.”
I forgot about it almost immediately.
