It was Grade 9. We were in the playground one evening after class, a few of us, old and new friends, playing basketball. And then she kicked the ball in my face. My lips cut on my braces. Blood in my mouth. We each had a huge crush on the other, and, man, I don’t know who was more embarrassed. We danced around each other for the next four years, flirting and sneaking one or two kisses at school dances, me urging my family to eat at the restaurant where she worked and telling her I needed help with classes I didn’t need help with, she looking cute every day and tempting me, but never going for each other, never “dating”. Then, with two months left in high school, we finally got together. We spent that summer lying in bed, swimming in her parents’ pool, and falling in love. That was ten years ago. And now we’re getting married. We were in Portland, OR, last month and saw the Holstee Manifesto hanging in a shop window on SE Hawthorne Blvd. It was perfect. It reminded us of who we are and how we want to live, and it seemed the perfect thing to give out to our 15 closest friends at our tiny picnic wedding.  Us and the Manifesto - what a love story.

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