My first memory of Johnny is from when I was four and he was five. It might seem crazy that someone can remember something that far back, but I do.

When a boy is mean to you, and your Mom tells you that it’s just because he likes you, she’s just trying to protect you from the cruelties of the world.

You see, Johnny liked me- a lot- but he was NEVER EVER mean to me, far from it as a matter of fact.

The first time I met Johnny was the day we moved into the house across the street. I was as I said, four years old and a certified tomboy. Curly copper red hair and hazel eyes, I had the temper to match and my parents called me ‘firecracker’.

My favorite pastime was seeing how much I could get away with before I got into trouble, because face it, I was cute and I knew it. These shenanigans included, but weren’t limited to, picking up frogs, toads and snakes; jumping off ladders thinking I could fly…

This last one was how I met Johnny. You see, I jumped off a ladder and landed on him. Apparently, he thought he could catch me and break my fall. I broke his arm.

HIS mom thought it was cute, MY mom wouldn’t let me outside to play for two days. Finally though I was free and Johnny asked if I could come across the street and play. My mom said yes, amazingly enough, since his mom said she would keep an eye on me.

“My mom says I’m not supposed to get it dirty,” Johnny informed me as he showed off his cast.

“So you’re playing in the sandbox,” I pointed out. “Are you being naughty?”

He shook his head vehemently and I giggled, dumping some water into one of the plastic containers and then piling some dirt into it.

“Whatcha doin?” He asked and I patted the top of the dirt.

“Makin’ mud pies,” I replied.

“You’re cool, for a girl,” he said and I rolled my eyes.

“And you’re cool for a boy, I guess,” I informed him with a shrug, “does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” he said, “It did for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him and he leaned over, putting his head on my shoulder.

“You could take care of me,” he suggested and I burst into a fit of giggles.

“Do I look like a nurse to you?!” He pouted and I patted his head indulgently, “I’ll play with you, but I won’t take care of you. I’m four!”

“Okay,” he agreed, smile returning to his face.

That was the beginning of our afternoon play dates, sometimes at his house, sometimes at mine. He was the only friend that I had that wasn’t my older sister’s age. He was one year and ten days older than me. My sister was a little over two years older than me, and her friends were her age and older. I always felt like the cute little sister.

As I got older, I would spend more and more time with Johnny and the boys he hung out with, because I got along better with the boys. I was a tomboy. This was me.

But for that first year, it was pretty much just Johnny and I. My mom was so busy with my baby sister, that I think she found it a relief to send her troublemaking child off to the neighbor’s house to play with their little boy.

She had no idea that we stalked his big brother and his friend Jimmy all the time. It was fun pissing the older boys off. I didn’t know why, it just was. They were always so serious. I mean, come on! What fun can eight year olds have? They were always playing their video games and other stuff and rarely tolerated us smaller kids. So we took to throwing firecrackers and stuff into whatever room they were in and then running before they could catch us.

Jimmy wouldn’t remember it later, but I would.

That first year flew by, and then I was five and he was six.

“BEKA!” Johnny yelled and I ran over to where he was on one side of the yard.

“What is it Johnny?” I asked, gasping.

He was holding a flower in his hand, and he held it out to me. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

I giggled and took it, “Johnny, we’re not old enough!”

“Sure we are!” He assured me, taking my hand in his own. “So will you?”

“Johnny, I’M FIVE!” I giggled and he leaned over and pressed his lips to mine.

“And I’m six, so? Will you be my girlfriend?” He begged and I giggled again.

“Sure why not?” I sniffed the flower. “You’re the bestest boy I know.”

“Cool,” he said and let go of my hand, going back to playing with his trucks in the yard.

And that was that, I was Johnny’s girlfriend at five years old.