take me back

I've been thinking about those birthday parties your mother threw for you when we were little, always at the clubhouse in your neighborhood, that I went to every year, remembering how by mid-october it was much too cold to swim but you always did anyway. You were the only one in the pool, just doing laps and handstands, neglecting your guests for a few moments. Once, I was standing by the edge, shivering in the pink swimsuit and shorts my mother had chosen, and you motioned for me to come too. It was freezing but I didn't complain. I would have dove into the polar bear exhibit at the zoo, if you were the one asking me. I was usually alone at those things; two years younger than you and all your friends, and boys had cooties anyway, but there was never one where you didn't talk to me, didn't flash your slantways smile with half the teeth missing and ask me to play.

Today you'd be a man, a grown-up; you'd celebrate somehwere with no swimming pool or swingset and I wouldn't be there. I'm not sure whose fault that would be, but I'll always blame me.

And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that I'm even clumsier with words than with slippery floors and stilletos and sporting equipment. I'm sorry for daring you to kiss me and sorry for running when you tried. I'm sorry for every time I avoided answering one of your qestions or said
Moooom when she suggested that we go on a walk,just you and me. I'm sorry about that last time more than anything, and for being colder than those pools, and for the way I would only nod as you lifted your hand up to wave goodbye, not even smiling.

I'm sorry I don't stop by every week anymore, and sorry that when I do come, I walk, instead of running barefoot and falling to my knees as soon as I'm close. I'm sorry that I don't feel like crying every time I think of you when I don't do it enough anyway. I'm sorry that I get so preoccupied with things that aren't half as bad in the long run but still hurt more today.

I'm sorry you never graduated or went to college or became a great chef/writer/video-game-programmer/astraunat (I'll never forget). I'm sorry you never flew across the country or got your driver's liscence or got married or won anything or got further. I know I couldn't have saved you, but I'm still sorry. I always will be.

I saw your family last week; John looks so much like you now that the smile I owe him is shaky Rory is the same. They cleared everything up with your dad, he's off the hook, and your mother almost looks happy. She still hugs me more tightly than anyone else in the world. They each keep a piece of you hanging around their necks, and I wonder what piece it is (your nose, arm, thumb, heart?) and exactly how morbid it is of me to to wonder this. Just in case you needed an update. Just in case you can't see for yourself.

You're still my fireworks- the fourth of July becasue that was our day, New Years because it was our last- and hang gliders and Harry Potter books. The black shirt I wore to your funeral is faded and soft; it's too big now but I'll wear it today anyway. Some afternoons I still walk around my backyard in circles and think about you chasing me- I cried for an hour when my father gave away our swingset, knowing I'd never find the TS & CB that I remember but might have imagined you scraping into the soft wood with your thumbnail. I see bunny ears sticking out of someone's head in a picture and I remember the first time I ever heard of those- I was at your house and you followed me around with two fingers behind my head and when I asked what it meant you said it means I love you and I still don't know whether it really does. The 23rd of every month is often someone's birthday, but half the time I still count how long it has been, like I did the first few months (almost thirty-two). I still missyouloveyouwantyouback. And if I had it my way, I still wish I could say my first kiss was Tommy Sullivan, I was seven and he was nine and it was underneath the swings in my backyard and my life was complete.

You would be eighteen today.
I'm sorry you're not.

to the house in the backyard tree, said you'd beat me up, you were bigger than me- you never did. You never did.