The Letter 'F'

The [f]ollowing is what we sometimes call a [f]lashback.
However, when it's an actual event, we call it a memory.
Aren't words [f]un?
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The Heat was getting to me.
Polyester gowns do nothing pleasant for the unpleasantly plump.

About three-thousand people were crammed into the Colleseum downtown.
They were all screaming.
All cheering.
All smiling.
All touching each other.

"Momz? I'll be right back." I said, desperate to escape the ceremonial insanity. She wrenched her lips away [f]rom her [f]iance just long enough to say she'd see me in a minute.

Vomitous.

I ran out what I assumed was a side door and into the drizzle.
It was still miserable.

"[F]uck you, Texas!"

"I thought you were scared to leave."

Will appeared [f]rom the shadows of the unnatural trees, sprouted [f]rom concrete. He stood, as I did, with his back against the wall. Our little [f]ingers locked.

"I am. I can't just up and go, [f]riend. There's too much here."

"Too much or too many?"

"I don't get it."

"Oh, come on, kid. You know you're just [f]reaked about having to leave the only people you've ever gotten attached to."

"Indeed, I am.?

"The only person."

"You mean Ian?" I said, almost in tears. He laughed and put his arm above my head on the brick.

"I was hoping you'd say me."

"I'd never be quite so [f]orward."

He bent his neck the couple of inches it took [f]or us to be [f]ace-to-[f]ace and grinned. I stared back in what I hoped was de[f]iance.

"I'm not going to kiss you, kiddo."

"Good." I said, resting my hands on his pinstriped jacket and ignoring the sentence.

"I'm not going to KISS you."