It had been about forty years since I had seen him. It still amazed me how he always managed to look the same. His shocking red hair shimmered in the darkness of the night as he sat on my window sill.

“Hmmm… You’re not Karla, are you? Naw, you’re too old.” He said, holding his chin while he looked me over. As if agreeing with what he said, he nodded slightly. The boy that haunted my dreams stood up, turning away from me. Just as he jumped off my sill, I cried out.

“Peter!” My voice was hoarse with anguish. Suddenly the boy turned back to face me, his green eyes wide in surprise. I looked down shamefully, forcing myself to remember when he left me. My wrinkled hands wrung the napkin in my hand nervously. “It’s me, Peter. It’s Karla.” Glancing up, waiting for his reaction, I smiled. He squinted his eyes slightly, leaning his face forward.

He jerked his chin at me, giving me a sly grin. “You’re so old though! My Karla wasn’t old at all.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest doubtfully. I shook my head sadly.

“I know. She was only 15 when you met, right?” I asked him, rising with difficulty. He scowled at me, frightened with the idea of someone that was once so strong and beautiful was now so weak and frail.