One Last Time

I remember that first day.

I walked into my new classroom,

Not even bothering

To see who was in my class.

I trudged to my seat,

Shoved my new box of crayons

All the way to the back of the desk,

And put my head down

On the cold lacquer.

I already missed

The feel of grass

Between my toes,

The warm sun

Tanning my skin,

The impressive cakes of dirt

I’d collected beneath my fingernails.

Mom had scrubbed me clean

The night before,

Washing my freedom

Into the cold bathwater

Where it collected in a gritty layer

Beneath me.

I kept my head down

Until the morning bell rang

And I had to stand

And pretend to say

The pledge to the flag with the class.

I let my eyes go out of focus,

Blurring the images before me

Into smears and swirls of color.

Through the haze,

Something caught my attention.

Someone.

I blinked,

Squeezing my eyes all the way closed

Before opening them

And letting them settle on her.

She had her hand pressed firmly

Over her heart

And a cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows

As she dutifully recited the pledge,

Her head nodding along

As she spoke.

She smiled when she was done,

As if proud she’d remembered

It all.

I tried to catch her eye,

But she never looked my way.

So I watched her

And I waited.

And then

We were walking home from school

Together

Every day.

Even after I could drive,

Still we walked

So we could stop and talk

At that ancient, worn, gray rock

That sat right between

Her house and mine.

Sometimes we sat there for

Hours…

And she told me everything.

She told me when her parents fought,

When they argued

All night long,

Then hid it from her in the morning

With smiles

That never quite reached their eyes.

She told me when her brother

Said he wanted to run away,

To leave this place

And never look back,

And then she cried to me when he did.

She told me

When the football quarterback

Touched her hand in the hall,

When he turned around to talk to her

In English class,

Then asked her for help in math.

She told me when he kissed her.

I always listened quietly,

Nodding at the right times,

Laughing at the right times,

Grimacing inwardly.

And I waited.

I blinked and found myself

Back on that ancient, worn, gray rock,

Finally home after a long time away.

I remember the minutes

Before she’d arrived—

I had my speech all worked out,

The ring in my pocket,

And flowers

Hidden behind me.

She would be there soon.

I sat nervously

On that ancient, worn, gray rock

That sat right between

Her house and mine,

And I waited.

We followed all the traditions.

I hadn’t seen her

Since the night before.

I knew she’d have something borrowed,

Something blue,

Something old,

And something new.

I had never seen her

In her dress,

Though I’d imagined it

Over

And over again.

When she finally came around that corner,

She was just as I’d pictured.

Her cheeks were a light pink,

Perfectly matching the bouquet of flowers

She had clasped tightly in her palms.

Though her hands shook,

Her smile

Was easy and unwavering.

Her eyes locked on mine

As the wedding march played,

And she walked slowly down the aisle,

And I waited.

And then so soon,

Too soon,

I had to leave her.

It was late.

It was cold.

The snow covered the windshield

Before the wipers had a chance

To sweep it clean.

I couldn’t see into the clouded darkness.

I didn’t see the ice.

Then I was spinning,

Spinning,

Out of control.

I squeezed my eyes closed

And threw my hands in the air,

Clasped together in a silent plea.

The car slammed into the darkness,

And the colorless night

Wrapped me in its arms,

Gently yet insistently pulling me away.

Now

I just sit up here,

Watching her

As she goes about her days

Without me.

I watch as our two beautiful children,

Still so young,

Move on, never really having the

Chance

To know me.

I watched her

That cold December night,

That night

I had to leave her.

I watched

As a police officer trudged to the front door,

Knocked quietly,

As if wishing for no answer,

And I watched as he told her

That I wasn’t coming home.

That I was never coming home.

I watched

As she crumpled to the floor

And knotted her fingers

In her long blonde hair.

I watched

When she took our children,

Our two beautiful children, still so young,

To that ancient, worn, gray rock

That sat right in the middle of our back yard

And told them that I wasn’t coming home,

That I was never coming home.

And still I watch them

Going about their lives,

Growing up,

Growing old.

And I wait.

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