It starts as such a sweet story. Ned adjusts the way he's sitting, so that he can lean against Ginsberg more comfortably, hands knitted together in his lap, listening to him talk. He tries to imagine what Ginsberg would have been like as a boy. He'd said he was quiet. In some ways, Ned imagines him a little bit the way Eugene was - brilliant but different to the other kids, desperate to be liked, friendly, wearing his heart on his sleeve.

He can hear the smile in Ginsberg's voice, even if he can't see it. The part about wanting to learn how to compliment her is almost more charming. Ned does, however, almost imperceptibly stiffen when Ginsberg is talking about going to his father for instruction on how to flirt in English. It's not a voluntary reaction, and he doesn't even notice himself doing it.

"For me it was the girl who lived across the street. Chuck." Ned can remember just how intensely, how ardently he had adored her, lets out a little sigh. "Charlotte Charles. She and I got into so much trouble together. The first time we met, she pushed me out of a tree." He laughs as he says it - clearly there were no hard feelings. "I was a complete disaster. I thought the sun and the stars all revolved around her. Never said anything about it, but I did kiss her, once."

Which is when his fond memory of her, and how much he'd cared for her, is interrupted (as it always is) by the memory of how they'd eventually been parted. How he'd ruined her life.