I only knew Charles for two weeks
at a summer camp. I was nine, and
he was ten. He asked a lot of questions.
Questions are tricky. There is such a thing
as a bad one, and the people
who say otherwise are the best proof of it.
Charles asked me
on the ninth day of camp if boys
could love boys like boys
I told Charles that he was being
gross and weird, and
that was the end of it.
I hadn’t been taught that answer.
Charles was quieter after that,
but I didn’t notice much at the time.
It’s been a while since I’d thought
about Charles, but I hope he would laugh
if he saw me now.