Every Girl I've Loved A Lifetime Ago

Crystal

My junior year started and ended with the bleach blond waitress at the '60s style, All American diner on the other side of town.
Crystal's lips were painted cherry cola red, she smelled like vanilla and sugar, and she looked at you as if you were the only bold, concrete thing in this faded, blurry world.
Her smile reached her eyes when it was genuine, leaving creases in the corners and dimples to settle on her cheeks.
Her breasts were large and firm, her customer service voice light and ditzy, her legs long and pale.
We made out in the front seats of her old rusted Mustang to Elvis Presley and Bob Dylan.
We played pretend in the bougie, nostalgic diner after her manager left and her shift was over and it was her turn to lock up.
We traded secrets, shared promises, and swapped stories in her shitty apartment complex two minutes away from the highway.
Crystal offered me iced tea and honey biscuits after we were both done, flushed and giddy and a little bit in love.