I..don't know

I wanted to write something profound, something good. Or maybe continue one of my old favorites. Instead, I got this:

We lived on the same street. Did you know that? Probably not. I used to watch you ride your bike with my brothers while I stood in the yard and made chalk drawings in the driveway. My brothers thought they were dumb. But you didn’t. You always used to say they were “cute.” It’d make me blush but I’d turn away before you could see me. That seemed like so long ago. But I remember it like yesterday.

I remember how your pants used to sag below your waist and I always thought it dangerous because your jeans were always so close to the spokes on your bike. I used to worry you’d get hurt. I didn’t want that. You’d always drink Coke when you came over to watch movies with my brothers and I always thought it was unhealthy on account you had been in the sun all day. I wanted to tell you something then but I knew my brothers would just yell at me. They hated when I interrupted you guys. But I would sit at the top of the stairs and watch you until Mom said it was time for me to go to bed. Your favorite word was “wicked”. Every time you said it, I’d smile. When my oldest brother broke his arm, you said his fall was “wicked cool” and I didn’t worry about him so much after that. You never left your shoes on for very long at our house. And you’d always kick them off in the same place in the kitchen by the back door before sliding into the den to sit on the couch and prop your feet up on the table. One time, I hid your shoes behind the plant on the back patio. I knew it wouldn’t take you long to find them--you were always so smart. But at least I got to watch you for a bit longer.

I hated you for moving away and leaving me like my brother did. I hated that I wouldn’t get to see you ride by our house anymore or worry about you falling down on the street. I hated that I’d never get to hear you burp loud enough to shake the windows and make Mom frown; that I’d never get to hear you say “wicked” again; that you’d never leave your shoes on the back patio. Most of all, I hated that I never told you how I feel. I hated that you were the only boy I ever loved.

“What’s it say, man?”

“Oh.. huh? It’s.. from your kid sister. Didn’t you read it?”

“Nah, she said it was to you. Said it was your going away present for college or something. I dunno. It’s probably something dumb. All she wrote me was a recipe for Mom’s chocolate-chip cookies. High school girls… Am I right?”

“Uh.. yeah. It’s dumb. I’m just going to make a phone call. You guys still live in that house on Cherry Street? Same number, I mean?”

“Yeah. But I don’t see—,”

“Thanks, man. I’ll catch up with you a little later. See ya.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.