Coming of Age

He looked at me and smiled. I nodded in acknowledgement, my head against the doorframe and my arms folded.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m in a bad mood”.
I didn’t look at him to see his reaction; frankly I didn’t care. But then I felt him move closer and pick something out of my hair, sliding it down the strand slowly and carefully. I didn’t know what it was, possibly blossom; it was early spring. But in that moment I suddenly felt different, it was a sensitive act. Normally he or any other boy would grunt, “You’ve got something in your hair”.
This was different; it was an attentive side I hadn’t seen before.

By erinhopefrancis, April 26, 2016.