I Want to Hold Your Hand

Flash Fiction by Lynda Wilde

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He was a boy with a white convertible, a white Chevy convertible with red vinyl seats. He wasn’t a forever boy, this boy, who after high school wanted nothing so much as a herd of cows, but how not to fall in love with those intelligent blue eyes and a hot Ontario summer? The front seat of the chevy bench style, so a boy could drive with his left hand on the wheel, right hand free to pull his girl close across red vinyl.