24 years (untitled)

"I never wanted my life to end up this way," I said outloud to no one. The sound of my voice sounded foreign and distant. Not like me at all.

I sat outside my tiny house, sprawled across the porch swing, pushing myself lazily back and forth with a bare foot trailing the ground. It was right after sunset on a hot, humid August night. The air was thick with mosquitos, so I lit a cigarette hoping the smoke would keep them away. It was one of those nights where there are so many stars, there's hardly room for any sky.

I sat thinking about the past 24 years, living in my memory again. The only time I seemed to smile was when I thought back on my time with him. Him. A year since I saw him.

Of course, I had reason to be reminiscing that night.

It was my birthday. And I sat on my front porch alone in the night's summer heat.


_________________________________



I met him when I was 15 years old. I was already tall, with a thick mass of brunette hair and freckles across my nose. My mother called me "Doe" back then because of my large dark brown eyes that she claimed always seemed to be searching, alert, and slightly scared, like a deer.
"Doe, grab your mama a glass of iced tea. It's simply dreadful in this heat"
"Pull your hair up outta your face, Doe Eyes. You're too pretty to hide behind that mop"
That was my mother. Daddy and I would tease her, calling her The Southern Bell. She grew up in southern Indiana, hardly the deep south, but you'd think from her accent she was fresh out of Georgia, carrying a basket of peaches. She wore her bleached blonde hair long, but always in a bun at the nape of her neck. She would have liked to be mistaken for my sister, and probably would have if not for the tiny wrinkles from too much sun and those eyes that showed too many years behind her. She was a tall, slender woman and always told me that it was everyone's dream but hers to be a model. But that wasn't her style, she'd say. "I surely would never put on some JC Penny panties and let them take a picture of it!" In her mind, modeling always involved underwear.
The summer I was 15, mom worked teaching a class at a local pool. She was always hell-bent on exercise and gettin her favorite Levis up over her ass, and that summer in particular her newest obsession was water arobics. I, of course, refused to go and had to listen to her comments everyday. "It'll catch up with ya, baby. You may be thin now, but you just wait 'til you turn 30". At fifteen, the least of my concerns was turning 30.
My father owned a garage where he was self employeed as a mechanic. He had taken over the business from my grandpa, and had been fixing cars and farm equipment since he was old enough to hold a wrench. Business was good that summer. So good that he couldn't keep up, even working 18 hours a day. My mother told him to bring a cot to the garage. "I don't want ya crawlin into bed in the dead of night smellin like grease, Jack." The sad part was, she was serious. I used to wish she'd just once thank him for putting a roof above us and food in our bellies.
My dad was good-looking in a rough, working-man sort of way. Over six feet tall with dark brown hair and eyes so dark they were almost black. He was lean and muscular, with a presense that intimidated most. But when he smiled at you, the gruffness melted away and his eyes lit up like a flash of lightning. You knew when he smiled, he meant it.
He was known in the neighborhood as a good man. An honest, hard worker willing to help anyone out. He was often taken advantage of, but he never grew bitter. He always seemed to have faith in humanity and the good of all people. I asked him once why he never seemed to get mad at anyone and his answer was this.
"Just because someone does me wrong, doesn't mean I should do them wrong back. It's not my place to judge, and it just ain't worth it to get all excited about."
To me he seemed to be my mother's polar opposite. His laid-back to her uptight. His openmind to her narrow thoughts. His thoughtfulness to her flighty ways. But they loved eachother, and they loved me. So I have nothing to complain about.

_____________________________________


It was raining that day. It came down in sheets and cooled the 100 degree heatwave that had kept us inside our air conditioned house for the whole week. It was a Thursday, and Thursdays I normally worked for a neighbor cleaning out his barn and exercising his horses. But the rain had kept me home that day, and I was restless and full of energy, as always.
I had just gotten out of the shower when I heard my mother's little car pull into the driveway. I ran to the sofa and collapsed, closing my eyes. I often pretended to sleep to get out of doing chores or hearing once again about the benefits of the breast stroke.
The screendoor slammed open, announcing her loud presence, just like every other day.
"Mama's home, Am!" she bellowed through the kitchen.
I didn't move and tried to deepen my breathing.
"Amber? Doe, baby, where ya at?" she asked breathlessly. She seemed excited about something.
"There you are! Oh, she's out cold. I always tell her she needs to sleep at night. Up like an owl, that girl," she said. She seemed to be talking to someone.
I felt her come closer, and then gently touch my cheek.
"Babydoll, wake up, hon. Amber? We have a guest."
I slowly opened my eyes.
"Hi Mom"
I did my best to sound sleepy.
Then I saw him. A blonde guy, with a deep tan. And the most striking blue eyes I had ever seen. He smiled at me and I blushed. And I wasn't one to blush easily.
"Amber, meet David. The pool boy," she announced proudly, as if she were back in elementary school on show and tell day.
"Hey," I said and sat up.
"Hey, how ya doin?" He stepped forward and offered his hand.
His southern accent was subtle and natural. It rolled off his tongue and floated to my ears like smooth, beautiful music. Nothing like mom's.
"I met David here, and just had to grab him up and bring him home. He just moved here straight from Kentucky. Isn't that right, Dave?", she looked his way and continued without an answer.
"Your daddy needs help out in that garage, and it just so happens that Dave knows a thing or two about cars. So I offered him a part time job helpin out around here. And let me tell ya, hon, you're bound to like this job more than vacuumin' those pools! Now, Jack will be up for lunch soon, let me throw some sandwiches together..." she trailed off as she darted into the kitchen, lost in thoughts of turkey and swiss.
"You're mom's cool," he said, smiling again and sitting down in the rocking chair.
"You think so, huh? I guess she is," I said, shrugging my shoulders.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. He wasn't the most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen, but I felt drawn to him like a bee to a flower. I definitely wanted to drink him in.
I wondered about love at first sight.
He was 2 inches taller than me, standing about 5'10". He had a thin build, almost too skinny, with wiry muscles and long lashes framing the extraordinary ocean of blue iris' that looked me straight in the eye. I felt like I was drowning.
I thought I had better say something.
"Are you gonna be going to Franklin?" I asked.
"Yeah. You go there?"
"Yeah. I'll be a junior."
"Me, too. At least I'll know one person there."
He kept looking at me, making direct eye contact. It was confidence like I had never seen before. It was intimidating and sexy at the same time. I had to glance away, out the window.
"Yeah, it's a pretty lame school. Small. But there's some cool people. I can introduce you to my friends," I said.
He told me vaguely why he had to move to Michigan, how he now lived with his Uncle Robbie around the corner from the pool. I asked him if he missed Kentucky, and he answered me in a such a sincere way, that I had to believe him.
"I've been homesick as all hell. Up until right now."
He stared into me for a moment, then looked away and grinned, almost to himself.
I smiled at him for the first time as my mother brought in our sandwiches.

______________________________--


I had developed a massive crush in minutes, and it continued through the next month. I found excuses to stay around home and always had reasons to go out to the garage and visit when David was there.
He'd always find ways to make me laugh. Lip syncing to the radio and playing air guitar, jumping around and singing into screwdrivers. My father would watch from a distance, shaking his head and smiling. I guess he knew then what I found out later.
David started staying later and later after all the work was done. He'd sit with my father on the patio furniture and drink Old Milwaukee beer. Dad would tell him about the good old times he had as a teenager; parties out in the orchards, drag racing hotrods down country roads, chasing women, how he caught a few and finally kept one. They talked about football and baseball, the weather and how the crops were growing.
I'd spend an hour in the bathroom applying makeup and trying on outfits that I could parade past him while he sat outside.
On one hot evening in particular, I decided that tonight was the night. I had never been a shy girl, and this boy wasn't going to make me into one.
I waited until my father got up for a bathroom break and more beer, and strolled casually outside. I wore my black bikini and at the last minute threw on some cutoff jean shorts. I had pulled my hair up into a sloppy bun, to show off my back and shoulders, and wore pink gloss to make my lips even more plump.
He stopped short, looked at me, and grinned his little grin.
"Hey, Amber. What's up?"
He was so smooth. Four words and I was melting. I felt his eyes quickly run down my body. I was fully developed and I knew it. Even at 15, I knew what it took to control a man. I wanted to control him as much as he controlled me.
"It's way too hot. I'm goin' to the beach to swim. Maybe watch the sunset."
I waited.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," he said slowly.
Again his eyes involunarily took me in, up and down. I bit my lip as his eyes met mine.
"All my friends are busy, so I was gonna ask Mom for a ride." I paused. "Unless you wanna drive me? Use that new driver's license of yours?"
"Yeah. Definitely. It's way too hot out here." He smiled again.



We ended up going to a small beach that I knew would be close to deserted. We walked slowly down the wooden stairs and sat down in front of the water, letting the waves cover our feet.
"Smoke?" he asked.
I took it. So began my cigarette habit.
He asked about my friends, what kind of people I hung out with. I told him that most of them were older and that we were known to be a little wild. I told him about my best friend, past boys that I dated. I told him about school, teachers, who to avoid and who to talk to. I told him what I wanted to do after I graduated, what kind of car I wanted when I turned 16, I told him everything. He listened so well. Not only did he listen, but he seemed like he was actually interested in my life. My words flowed easily until finally I realized how long I had been talking and quickly became quiet.
I stared out at the water, waves rolling towards me, kissing my toes, then falling back in. The sun was sinking and warmed my whole body. I laid back and closed my eyes.
"It's so nice here, isn't it?" I asked him.
"Yeah. I'm likin' it here." He looked at me.
I jumped up and grabbed his hands, pulled him off the sand and started running into the water. He was fully clothed, but he never hesitated. He just jumped in. The lake that day was gentle with no undertow, so we swam until it was over our heads, ducking under the water, splashing, laughing. He suddenly stopped and looked at me, treading water.
"I hope you don't have your wallet in your pocket," I said, giggling.
"It doesn't matter if I do. Nothing seems to matter when I'm with you." He was serious, no smile on his face.
"Is that a good or bad thing?" I asked.
"I've fallen for you, you know that? Every word you say, every time you smile, everything about you..." he trailed off.
And I kissed him. No hesitation, just a split second between the sound of his voice and my lips on his. I jumped into Lake Michigan, then I jumped off a 900 story building, falling and falling into love with him.


_________________________---


The night seemed to be getting hotter instead of cooler and I wondered what time it was.
Time for a drink, I thought.
I stood slowly from my porch swing and wandered into the house. Memories were like weights on my feet, dragging me down, making me slow and sluggish. But I couldn't survive without them. They held me to the ground, kept me stable. I knew without them I'd fade away.
The microwave clock read 11:11.
I used to say "It's 11:11! Someone's thinking about me!"
But somehow I doubted anyone was.
Forty nine minutes left to this day. I considered taking a couple sleeping pills with my vodka and orange juice, but then remembered Marilyn Monroe. Wasn't it sleeping pills and vodka that ended her day?
I sipped my drink and walked through the small house where I lived, or pretended to live. I turned on lights as I entered each room, looking around, touching knick knacks, pillows, smelling my bottle of perfume, wiping dust from surfaces, anything that might draw my attention. This was a habit I'd had since I was a kid. Trying to stay busy by doing nothing.
I suddenly felt more restless than before, and found myself in the bedroom, next to my stereo. I swallowed the rest of my drink in one big gulp and put on some bluesy Hendrix, which usually settled me down. He bought me this CD. Of course. He was everywhere I turned.
A thought popped into my head. The picture in the box. The box in the back of my closet. I had to look.
He was smiling, not at the camera but at something to his left. He was sitting on our bed. His hair was sort of long, tucked behind his ears. He wore a white baseball cap turned backwards, and a white t-shirt. He was playing his guitar, hand blurred from the motion on the strings. Next to him on the bed was a red hooded sweatshirt. My hooded sweatshirt. I was in his life, there was proof of it right there. We had slept so many nights in that bed, legs tangled, holding hands, bodies pressed together, skin on skin.
I wanted nothing more than to climb into that picture, then climb into that bed and feel him next to me.
I loved this picture. I remembered the day I took it. "I have never been more attracted to anyone in my life then I am to you at this moment, so I have to take a picture." I said to him. He called me crazy, but it made him smile.
We made love all night.
It was the only picture I had left of him. I used to keep it in a frame on the table by my bed, but looking at it made me too happy and too sad at the same moment. About a year ago I couldn't take it anymore, so I threw it into my closet with tears on my face. This was the first time I had seen it since.
The picture looked different. Small details jumped out at me. The tiny black spot on his t-shirt, right over his heart. The cigarette burning in the ashtray by the bed. The corner of his hanging American flag showing at the top of the picture.
I stared for a long time. The eyes I got lost in so many times, the eyes that looked at me with love swimming through them. My own eyes burned, blurred, but I would not cry tonight.
I threw the picture back in the box and almost ran from the room. Too many ghosts in here, I thought.
And I made another drink.

__________________________________________-


It was my 16th birthday and I woke before sunrise to the sound of soft guitar chords floating above my bed, forming into music, so gentle and slow that I didn't want to open my eyes.
David sat cross-legged at the foot of my bed. He played, but didn't sing. He didn't need to. His feelings and thoughts poured out of the instrument, his love for me at the tip of his fingers, imprinted on taught strings and a guitar pick.
I sat up and didn't say a word. He glanced up at me, a brief smile, then went back to playing, concentrating, wanting it to be perfect for me. I cried silently, pure happiness and love raging through me like the hottest fire, candles I never wanted to blow out.
It was hard to believe I had only know him for 2 months. He was my best friend, almost instantly, and I was his. I thought about the paths it takes to get where we are. The little acts of fate that led me here, led him to my bed that morning, to my life. I cried even more.
He finished the song, looked at me with a huge smile and said "Happy Birthday." I lunged forward and hugged him so tightly that the muscles in my arms grew tired.
"That's the first whole song I ever wrote. I've been working on it every night for about a month."
"Thank you. I loved it." I hugged him again.
I felt small for some reason. So small in the huge new world that he created for me.
"You're welcome."
We laid next to eachother in my small twin size bed, face to face, laughing over nothing, talking about everything. We kissed for what seemed like hours, but it didn't get hot and heavy. It was slow, gentle, soft, like the song he had played for me.
We fell asleep as the sun was rising, my head against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, my heart in his hands.

_______________________________


We broke up two months after school started. He had joined the football team, and I had become even more involved with horse shows and teaching a beginners level horsemanship class after school each day. We were both extremely busy.
On the weekends, we partied. Drank, smoked, whatever we could get our hands on. I had a wild streak the size of Texas running through me, and it came out in mass quantities after a few drinks and a joint. Guys would flirt with me, and I'd flirt back. David would retaliate by kissing another girl. I'd relatiate to THAT by flashing a group of guys, then making out with 2 of them. It was a vicious, disgusting cycle that neither of us were proud of once we sobered up.
Of course there were good times, but at the time we broke up, there just weren't enough of them. I cared about him more than I cared about myself, and come to think of it, maybe that was our downfall.
So we decided to break up. I don't remember who said it, I don't remember who did it, but it happened and I cried for a week straight. My mom even let me stay home from school for a couple days. I felt deflated, empty. I couldn't drag myself out of bed, and lost over 10 pounds in a week.
The true definition of a broken heart. I didn't know at the time that it would be broken again and again for the next 10 years of my life.
Over the next few months, we slowly started talking again. It started as a "hi" in the school hallway, then to forced, awkward conversations when I ran into him at parties. He still worked for my dad a couple days a week, and still sat on our front patio and drank beers while my dad asked him how the team was doing. I'd try to avoid them, but my dad had other ideas. He'd delibrately call me outside, for some reason or another, and keep me out there for as long as possible. I guess he saw how miserable we both were without eachother. Like I said before, I think he knew from the beginning what I was only beginning to realize.
He eventually talked me into going with him to one of David's games, so on one cold Friday night, we sat in the stands and I cheered for the love of my life.
After the game, we met up with David and Dad offered to buy us a late dinner at a local restaurant. David said he'd meet us there after he showered and changed.
Dad and I walked into the little restaurant, and before we even sat down, he said he'd forgotten his wallet in the truck.
And he left me there.
I should have been a little mad, but I wasn't. I just laughed and thought about how this was something my meddling mother would do, not my dad, who normally kept to himself.
David came in 10 minutes later, sat down and looked around. I just laughed some more, and he figured out quickly that we'd been set up. He grinned and lit a cigarette.


We ended up talking until they kicked us out. It wasn't a deep conversation, we didn't bring up bad feelings or hurt pride or broken hearts. We just talked about everyday things. As we walked out the door of the restaurant, I knew we were friends again.
He drove me home. We didn't say much more, just listened to the radio and smoked a joint. When we pulled into my driveway, I thanked him for the ride and reached for the door handle, but he stopped me by touching my shoulder.
"I know we're not together, but I love you. Is that okay?" he asked.
I was confused and didn't answer.
"Is it okay that we're friends that love eachother? For now?"
I hugged him.
"Yeah, I think it's okay," I said

_____________________________________________


So, we were friends.
We'd meet up before school for coffee and cigarettes, eat together at lunch, ride together to parties on the weekends. But we didn't kiss, we didn't hold hands, we never ended phone calls with "I love you". We were truly just friends.
Other guys were interested in me, but I never gave them the time of day. It wasn't a conscious decision, I just knew that they were not what I wanted.
As far as I knew David wasn't dating anyone either. I was content with this thought, and didn't dwell on the fact that he could be seeing someone that I didn't know about.
Then one day in English, I heard his name. Coming from Jessica McNally's mouth. I turned around, curious, with the smallest twitch in my stomach.
"...I guess we're going to see Boogie Nights or something. I guess it's like, about pornstars or something! I was kinda like 'ewww gross!', but David wants to see it," she said his name loudly, smiling.
She was talking to another cheerleader, Amy Stelling, and Amy glanced in my direction.
"Shhh Jess! You know who is looking..." she said under her breath.
"Like I care!" she said, pulling a tube of lipstick out of her purse. "He's single, I'm single. No big deal." She looked me straight in the eye, twisted her face into a self-righteous grin and winked at me.
I would have hit her right then, if the teacher hadn't tapped on my desk.
"Ready to learn, Amber? Turn around please, we're about to begin," she said in a voice so chirpy I had to refrain from hitting her, too.
I didn't hear another word spoken for the next hour.
When the bell rang, I stalked from the classroom, headed straight for David's locker.
I saw him before I got there, talking to a senior football player next to the drinking fountain.
I didn't care who heard me.
"Are you going out with that slut Jessica McNally?"
"What? Well, I don't know. She asked me out," he said calmly.
I turned and walked away.
"Hey, hold on! Amber! Hey, I gotta talk to you about something. Something important..." he called after me.
I didn't hear the rest. I walked out the school's front door and got into my car.
I drove to the beach. I sat watching the icy water rolling, undulating, white caps breaking on the sand. The wind blasted my face, and I had a hard time lighting my cigarette.
I sat there until my body was numb, hoping the cold would also numb the pain I felt thinking about him. I closed my eyes.
He sat down beside me, making me jump.
"I knew you'd be here. First place I came," he said, watching the water.
I didn't say anything.
"I'm not going to go out with Jessica."
"Why not? I don't care if you do," I responded.
"I don't want to. She's not you," he said, and touched my hand.
"Okay, it's fucking cold. Let's go up to my truck. I need to talk to you," he said.
I followed him up the steps.
We sat trying to heat ourselves in the luke-warm air coming from his truck's vents. I was silent, like I always was when I was upset.
"I'm moving back to Kentucky," he said quietly.
I froze.
"What?... Why?" I stammered.
"Mom called last night..." he trailed off.
"You can live with us!" I was practically yelling. "Mom and Dad love you! We'll clean out the guest bedroom..."
"Amber, I gotta go home."
He had moved up to Michigan for various reasons, the main one being his father going to prison for selling pot. His mom was left taking care of of her dying mother-in-law, David's grandma, and trying to scrape by on little to no income. On top of that, David had gotten into alot of trouble with the law himself, and the judge had agreed to put him on probation in Michigan in the care of his uncle.
"Dad's getting out. Sometime next week. Mom talked like it was some miracle, but somehow it happened. And Grandma's really not doin' good. They say she doesn't have much time," he said. He stared out the window while he talked. None of his usual direct eye contact. He already seemed 500 miles away.
"So, I gotta go. I need to go back and grow up, show them all that I care. Because I do, I care so much. They're my family," his voice cracked, and he looked at me. "Do you understand?"
I turned towards him and touched his knee.
"You're my family. But I understand," I almost whispered.
We sat in his old Ford pick-up and looked out over the beach, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me.

______________________________--


I didn't see him again for 5 years. We kept in contact, sometimes daily, and other times we didn't talk for months.
We'd send eachother goofy birthday cards, call eachother in drunken states late at night, talk on the computer and play online games together, staying friends the whole time.
We grew apart on some levels. We, of course, weren't as close as we were at 16 years old, but we still knew eachother. We were there for eachother.
I had a few boyfriends, nothing too serious. He, on the other hand, started dating a girl about a year after he moved back to Kentucky and it became quite serious.
Her name was Julie, and David fell in love with her.
I also knew her and talked to her on the phone quite a few times, usually when they were having a fight and he asked me to call her. I became their relationship counsler.
I liked her. She was sweet and smart and outgoing. Someone I could be friends with.
Then there was this little corner of my heart that hated her with every ounce of passion I possessed.
He was MINE.
But I learned to deal with it, on some level. I let it go. I had my own life, which seemed to be going nowhere very, very quickly.
I had become, by age 19, very addicted to cocaine. At first, it was all in fun. Something my friends and I did to feel good. Then it became the "have to snort a line to get out of bed in the morning" type thing. I became so thin my family and friends worried about me constantly. I barely slept 2 hours a day, and had a hard time keeping a job. I was sleeping around, too fucked up most of the time to care who it was. I was also drinking, smoking weed, dropping acid, smoking meth, snorting painpills, all in the same weekend. You name it, I was doing it. I was looking for happiness, and most of the time I convinced myself I had found it.
Around this same time, David was a freshman in college, and was going through the mirror image of my life. He was failing all his classes, not only doing all the drugs but selling them too, and going through a break-up with Julie. They had been together for more than 2 years, and he was a wreck. He would call me crying every night for a week straight, then I wouldn't hear from him for months. I tried to be there for him, but I couldn't even be there for myself.
Later that year, I cleaned up. I hadn't been to jail and I wasn't dead, so I decided it was time to count my blessings.
I checked into rehab for a month and came out a different person. The world seemed different when I came back home to my little apartment by the water. Everything looked so clear and vibrant. I noticed colors and scents and children's laughter and the way it felt to hug a friend and the way good music made me smile. Everything was new. I felt good.

Time passed. It was my 21st birthday. I had never had a problem with alcohol, so I broke my rules for one night and went out to party. I danced and laughed and got hit on by guys, but I came home alone, staggering up to my 2nd floor apartment.
The phone rang as I opened my door.
"Hello?" I didn't recognize the number through my blurry vision.
"Happy birthday, gorgeous." I could hear him smiling through the phone.
"Thanks. It's been forever! How are you?" I slurred.
We talked for hours that night, as I slowly sobered up and watched the sun rise from my balcony.
As we were saying goodbye, he caught me off-guard.
"I still care about you so much. More than anyone I've ever cared about," he said quietly.
"Come see me," I said.
So he did.


__________________________________


He rode a Greyhound bus 14 hours to see me. He could have made it in 8 if he would have drove his truck, but he didn't trust it to make the 500 mile trip.
It was September. It was warm that afternoon, almost hot at 85 degrees, as I stood waiting at the bus depot. I tried to sit on a bench and relax, but I couldn't sit down. I paced around, more nervous than I expected. I went into the public restroom at least 4 times to check my reflection.
I had straightened my wavy dark hair, and it fell to just above my shoulders, parted on the side and swept across my forehead. I had paid close attention putting on my makeup that morning, even though I rarely wore much makeup at all. I had on my favorite, perfect-fitting faded jeans, a black halter top, and black flipflops. I silently cursed myself for not wearing a skirt. He always used to like me in a skirt.
Then I realized that was 5 years earlier, and he very well not like me at all.
I felt a stab of rediculous fear, took a deep breath and walked back outside as a bus was pulling up.
I sat at a distance watching each passenger emerge, tired and stretching their arms, looking for their loved-ones to come hug them. Each man that stepped off the bus got my heart racing even more, and I convinced myself that each one was David.
He was the last one off. He had grown his hair longer, about to his chin, and he wore a black baseball cap. He had on baggy, faded jeans and a t-shirt, and carried a backpack and a guitar case. He was just like I remembered him, and I felt a flood of relief and recognition as I walked towards him. I smiled.
He set his stuff down and smiled his famous little-boy smile that lit up his face and made him the best looking guy there.
We hugged, tightly, for a long time. I noticed how good he smelled, even after being on a public bus for 14 hours. I noticed that he had filled out some over the years, but he was still thin and wiry, with more strength than you'd guess. I noticed that he didn't seem to want to let me go.
Finally, we pulled away from eachother, and he kissed me briefly on the cheek, then my forehead. I was surprised to feel a tear fall from my eye, and I laughed and wiped it away.
"Let's get to your place. We've got some catching up to do," he said with that mischevious grin. I couldn't help but grin back.


_____________________________________________


I mixed another screwdriver, adding more vodka than before, and made my way back to the couch. I didn't own a television, for one reason or another, so I sat and stared at the wall above the fireplace. I had covered it in hanging frames. Things I had cut from magazines, collages I had made out of snapshots of my friends, a few photographs of my grandparents and great grandparents when they were young, trapped in time in shades of gray, black, and white. I had written out quotes I loved in caligraphy on the wall, carefully drawn letters in shades of blue and purple ink, all intertwined between the frames, connecting them. This was my favorite thing in the house, truly me, made by me. It was art, and it was made from things I loved and things that made me feel a twinge of happiness. It was somewhere inside me, tucked away, waiting.
My mind wandered, replaying for the one-thousandth time the first time we had sex. Neither of us were virgins when it happened, but it still felt like the first time.

______________________________________________


He wanted me.
I could feel it. It made me tingle, it made me giggle, it made me want to push him to ground and jump on him.
But I didn't. I wanted to feel persued, I wanted to tease him a little.
We decided to have a few drinks, and by a few drinks I mean alot of drinks and ended up playing a rousing game of strip-darts, which I invented at that very moment.
He lost. By the 5th or 6th game he had to drop his boxers, and he did without hestation. He wasn't one for fuckin' around.
I was shocked he was so bold, and my mouth dropped open. I looked down and spoke without thinking.
"Holy shit!"
I then recovered, and made a quick apology.
"Sorry, but...wow" I said, laughing.
"You've seen it before," he said, a little smile on his lips.
"Well...yeah...a long time ago. And not really, you know...In all it's glory," I stammered, holding my arms out wide.
We both cracked up and he put his boxers back on.
The flirtation continued through the night. We were both stubborn, neither willing to make the first move. The conversation grew more and more naughty, and he kept finding ways to touch me. My shoulder, the small of my back, my knee. Every time his hand landed on my body, my heart pounded and I gasped a little for air. He had me right where he wanted me. I suppose I was doing the same thing to him, but I just didn't realize it.
We were standing in the hallway. He had just come out of the bathroom, and I had ran into him coming out of my bedroom.
"You're beautiful," he said, looking right at me.
I kissed him. I couldn't stop myself. The world seemed to spin around where we stood, but time stopped for us. I couldn't hear my heartbeat, I couldn't feel myself breathing, and his lips on mine kept me alive. He was my savior, he was the definition of love brought to life, right in front of me, pressed against me, his hands in my hair.

We made love for the first time on the floor in the hallway, then moved to my bed, where we did it again, more slowly, taking our time and exploring.
Afterwards, he fell asleep, pressed against me as closely as he could could, breath in my ear, hands holding mine. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to. I felt like I had waiting a lifetime for this moment. I had been standing on the edge of a cliff for the past 5 years, and I hadn't even realized that I was waiting for him. I laid there in bed, closed my eyes, and jumped once again. I opened my heart and let myself fall. No hesitation, just hope rushing through my veins like sweet poison.


____________________________________________



A couple months later, we were living 2 states apart but seemed to be falling more in love every minute that passed. We spoke everyday, usually for hours at a time. I wrote love poems about new beginnings and happiness; such a contrast to my dark, heartwrenching poems from before. I walked on clouds, I smiled constantly. He sent me cards through the mail. "Thinking of you" or "Missing you". I'd forget to eat, I didn't sleep, because all I could do was think of him. We'd talk about baby names and weddings, where we would live, what our dreams were. It was that perfect feeling of falling in love that doesn't compare to anything else in the world.

My cell phone rang at 6:30 am. It was his number. I smiled as I answered.
"Hey sexy," I said.
"Amber, it's Tonya."
His mom. I stopped smiling.
"David was in a car accident early this morning. It was bad," she told me.
I froze. My arms started tingling, traveling up my shoulders until it reached my head, sending a buzzing through my brain. She was talking but I couldn't hear her, the buzzing was too loud.
"...at the University Hospital..." she faded out again.
My mind was whirling, but my voice seemed to be gone.
"...caught on fire. They say his back is broken. They don't know if he'll walk again..."
"Is he okay? He'll be okay, right?" My voice was thin, cracking.
"We hope so. We really hope so," she sighed.
I don't remember the rest of the conversation. I hung up the phone, numb and in shock. Then pure panic ran through me faster than I could handle.
I'm not sure how I found him, but I did. He was still in the emergency room. I talked to receptionists and nurses, finally his doctor, and the next thing I knew, I heard his voice. I silently started crying then, and asked him if he was okay. He sounded drugged and distant, like he was talking through a dream. He told me he didn't know if he was okay.
"You'll be fine. You ARE fine," I reassured him.
He laughed then.
"If you say so, then I will be. You know me better than anyone."
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm thinking about you. And I love you," I was close to whispering, but he heard me.
"I love you, too."
I hung up the phone and wondered if anything would ever be the same.


__________________________________


I suddenly got a chill in the 90 degree house. I stood up from the couch and turned off the whirling ceiling fan, but still shivered slightly. Goose bumps stood up on my arms.
I walked back outside, feeling like someone was watching me. I glanced around, imagining someone crouched behind my Camaro in the driveway, waiting to murder me with an axe. Or maybe he'd kill me slowly, torturing me until I begged...
I stopped myself. I wasn't scared, but I was almost hopeful. Almost wishing.
What a perfect ending. Woman killed on her 24th birthday. I walked towards my car, playing the funeral march in my mind. Imagining the mourners in black, lining up by the church, waiting to give their last respects. I pictured my mother wailing. My father quietly trying to comfort her, 2 tears falling from each eye. I pictured friends gathering in the rain, hugging eachother and whispering about memories of me. I pictured David, alone, stone-faced and sullen. I pictured him walking away from my gravestone, into the darkening daylight.
I was in my car now, and as I slammed the door, a single picture popped into my brain. An empty church. No mourners, no tears. Just my face, pale and empty, staring out of the casket under stained glass windows pelted with rain.
I turned the key in the ignition.

___________________


He was confined to a bed for 5 months. No walking, at all.
For the first time in my life, I felt sorry for him.
He once commanded respect just by looking at you. Now he was lying there, wasting away, the bed seeming to swallow him.
He tried to smile when I walked in the room. But I didn't recognize that mouth. His eyes were glazed over. He rarely made eye contact. He weighed maybe 130 lbs.
I came to see him twice a month for a week at a time. I was spending half my life with him, literally. Sometimes, he seemed happy to see me. He'd thank me for driving 500 miles to be with him. Other times, he'd swear at me and tell me to get out. He didn't want me to see him like that.
But I stuck around. I kept loving him. Even though at times I felt like I didn't know the body in that bed. His spirit seemed to have disappeared, flying out the window, never looking back at the shell it left behind. I missed him as I sat next to him.
By the fifth month, I was almost as depressed as he was. I dreaded getting into my car and driving the eight hours. I dreaded walking into that house and seeing him with no expression on his face when he saw me. Or worse, a fake smile with no life behind it. I dreaded having to tell him that I wanted to end things, or at least put things on hold until he was back to himself. I wasn't strong enough to do it anymore. I was weak, just like I always knew I was.
I pulled into my usual spot in his driveway, and dragged myself up to the door. Knocking lightly, almost hoping no one would answer, I braced myself to once again see the hospital bed, so out of place in the cozy, comfortable living room. I braced myself to see his mother's face, smiling, and him still trapped in the twisted sheets, still a prisoner with no cage.
The door swung open, and arms wrapped around me before I even realized who they belonged to.
He whispered in my ear, "I'm so glad you're here." Then pulled away.
David was standing in front of me. He was smiling. A real smile. He kissed me hard on the lips.
"You're... up. You're standing up," I stammered.
I started to laugh while tears formed behind my eyes. "You're... you."
I hugged him again.


We spent the week making love all night and taking short walks outside all day. It was a warm spring, turning quickly into summer, and he broke a sweat and grew weak just walking to the end of the driveway. He had a long way to go, but he was happy doing it.
One night, we sat on the couch, my head on his shoulder, listening to music and not saying much.
"I want to be with you," he said, breaking the silence.
"Yeah...", I said, not knowing what he meant.
"I want to live with you. I want you to move here," he looked at me.
I smiled.
"Okay."
A month later, I was a resident of Corbin, Kentucky.


_______________________________________--

The country roads were empty and dark. I drove slowly, having know idea where I was going or why I was even driving.
Maybe I was trying to run.
Or maybe I was trying to find something.
I struggled with my cigarette and matches, steering with my knee, until I finally pulled over to light it.
I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes. I let my head fall back and rest on the seat. I was surprised when I felt heat behind my eyelids, turning into liquid, falling from my lashes, down my cheeks, dripping off my jawline.
I didn't allow myself to cry.
But my tears were alive, and trying to escape. With every one I wiped away, 3 more formed.
I pounded the steering wheel once, out of frustration, and shifted into first gear.
"Fuck this," I whispered.
I suddenly knew exactly where I was going.

_________________________








Work In Progress