Wednesday, September 28, 2011
“Hey, you.” I looked up, and there he was. My high school sweetheart. Hanging out, like he was always hanging out, not in any kind of rush. Just hangin’. It seems like a million years ago when he was the love of my life.
And it was a sweet, sweet love.
We chatted and smiled, standing outside the convenience store while my mind whirred through a thousand images at lightning speed:
We are holding hands and laughing, leaning up against my locker.
He is picking me up and taking me to a movie, and I am in my teenaged bedroom, dithering about what to wear.
I see him, standing with a group of friends and laughing; I see him the moment he sees me.
I am reading the letter he wrote me during chemistry class for the hundredth time, because it just keeps getting better.
He gently holds my head, and runs the brush along my hair, patiently, quietly, combing out the tangles.
He is screaming at me about betrayal, and I am crying, hysterically.
I am in the back of the police car, convincing the officer not to drop me off in front of my house.
He is putting his life back together and needs me, and suddenly I don’t see him in my future.
The phone rings and I practically break my neck to answer it because I know it’s him and I’ll die if I miss his call, and-
“Hey,” I smiled, up at him. “It’s good to see you.”