Whisper from the past

He had such beautiful eyes... and an easy, impish grin.  He was in my Art class in high school, but I think it was the year before I was actually enrolled in Art—I was only there to get out of study hall, if I recall.  He sat at the desk behind me and one row over, and he used to tease me about licking my lips.  He was perhaps a year or two younger than I, or perhaps not.  I don't even know if he's alive still or not.  Not because he was a bit of a daredevil or had bad habits (which he may or may not have been or had), but simply because I'm at that age where you can never tell.  (My best friend—brother by mutual choice—has been gone since 1996.)  We never really ran with the same crowds, except for a loose group that hung out at the "smoke tree", though I don't remember if he smoked.  I remember he was always kind, even in his teasings.  He warmed my heart, but never particularly touched it.  He had a soft voice that sent shivers to the right places.  I can no longer recall his name, though for years I did—but I can almost remember his face, and I can remember his eyes.

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