Andrew always thought about her hair, for instance, how long it was. The wild curls ascended straight down to the lumbar of her tall back. She was very tall, as well, her torso stretched for miles on top of skinny legs. Chicken legs, she told him they used to call her, bones, and they would make fun of her for being so thin. She never gained weight, it was an atribute; she was thin through elementary school, skinny through middle school, slender through high school. It was only in high school that her body gained her anything at all, high school was hell but it was the year she found herself, she told him. She told him a lot of things, Andrew doesn’t quite remember how many lies were embedded in her stories, but he could pick out a few. Andrew remembers once she told him that she was in love with him, the kind that doesn’t ever fade. One day it did though, and he found her suitcase missing from the closet and the clothes she so neatly hung in the closet all gone. It was all gone.