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May 16, 2007
The name of the first boy who loved me was Richard Love. I was six years old and the smallest one at the bus stop. He would walk me through the woods each morning, steering me away from the giant banana spiders that had built webs between the trees. When the older kids would dump my lunchbox out, Richard Love would brush the dirt off my sandwich and fix everything back just right for me. One day he gave me a green plastic ring with little flowers inside. I think about Richard Love sometimes. I wonder if he remembers me.