It was the hat that first attracted me to him. An Australian Outback looking sheep farmer hat that covered a mop of curls and hid his sunburned face. It was the hat I loved first.
He played me love songs on his guitar. Sweet songs about everlasting love. Songs about spending nights together.
We never did spend a night together. At seventeen, I would have been missed. I learned that farm boys know the best hiding spots. No one ever thought to look for us in the red barn. We hid high up in the bales of hay. We could touch the rafters with our fingertips.
The first time I spent the afternoon with him in the prickly soft hay, I felt changed. I had done what millions, no billions of women had done before me. I imagined I was a part of a sisterhood now. A wise and knowing sisterhood.
I put on my new pearl earrings. I had never worn them before. They had seemed too sophisticated. Too grown up before today. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror.
My diary entry was two pages long.
At the end of the summer I visited my mother for the weekend. It was uneventful and mostly silent. More silent than usual.
I packed my small suitcase that Sunday. It was time for me to leave. I checked for my diary in the inside pocket. I don't know what made me look for the two page entry I had written that afternoon on August 3rd.
The pages were gone. They had been ripped from the brown leather diary with such force, the binding was loose.
My mother had destroyed any evidence of her daughter's shameful act.
I rode the Greyhound bus back.
My pearl earrings dangling.