'Hometown Incident'

From the top of a hill can be seen a long and winding road, reaching out like a great arm through the center of a village, its many fingers a collection of smaller roads lined with restaurants, banks, a library, and at its palm a large town square. I lived at the shoulder of this village – though it was hardly bald - the town is covered with trees, like a very fine sweater, protecting it. Now you’ll understand from where its name comes; Ridgewood.
On an evening on a finger, near the library, I sat with a girl. Both of us, quite young, I being sixteen and her only seventeen, talked on the small front lawn of a banquet hall. “You know, it’s weird,” I said, “I don’t know Paul very well at all, I wonder why he invited my to his birthday party.” The girl, Gabrielle, smiled tenderly, “I got you invited to this party so that I could see you.”
“That is weird,” I said. Very little time passed before she and I were lying on that lawn, necking. After a few minutes she started asking, “Do you like me, do you like me?” I must confess I was rather devoid of emotion at that moment, but just guilty enough to mutter “getting there,” which soon became “a bit,” and then, “yeah”. And at the last, I really did.