Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someones hair. And a part of you was drawn to her and a part of you resisted--wanting to ride off on your bicycle kick a stone remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought Please dont look at me. If you dont I can still turn away. And part of you thought Look at me.