Tony Mahoney was fifteen when I met him. I was fourteen. Never mind that he had brown hair that draped his shoulders. Never mind that his smile was framed by dimples so deep you wanted to explore them or that his fingers were long and slender and danced when he talked. It was the sparkle in his blue-green eyes that captivated. There was so much play of light and shadow in his eyes that it was like gazing into the depths of a minature supernova.
Feeling like the tail of a comet, I followed Tony wherever he went. He loved to collect interesting objects that he found himself. He showed me his geode and his fossils embedded in shale. His collection of arrowheads was impressive. In spring, when the farmers were plowing, he would ride his bike out some back country road. As the plow turned over the earth, an arrowhead buried in the soil for three hundred years or more would be revealed. Tony had permission from some of the farmers to keep whatever he found as he walked behind the plow.
With a faraway look in his eyes, Tony would talk of the Susquehannocks who once claimed the territory as their home. They were a tribe who rivaled the mighty Iroquois in strength and numbers, he would tell me. As I gazed at the arrowheads, I wondered whose hands had shaped them and what animals had given up their lives to feed a family.
I followed Tony all through that spring and summer. Now it was fall, and we were sitting on the dry earth in the middle of the corn field where he had found his most perfect and beautiful arrowhead. We were surrounded by the silvery beige stalks stripped of their fruit. The arrowhead was long and slender and white with a point still sharp to the touch. Tony held it in the palm of his hand while we admired it. Suddenly the wind picked up and sent the dry, brittle stalks rustling against each other. Tony looked at me and said, "I'll give you this arrowhead if you let me kiss you. It's my best one."
I closed my eyes and leaned into him. Our lips met, softly. The shock of it swept through me. It traveled down the insides of my arms and out my fingertips. The arrowhead fell from my hand. I heard it thud on the dry earth. It seemed to me that the sparkle in Tony's eyes had become the galaxy and I was at the white, hot core.
I have a dozen or so arrowheads, now. Never mind how I aquired them. That's between me and Tony Mahoney.