Faults of My Own

People ask all the time if you have regrets in life when you’re old. They always say If time travel existed…., and I always say that I wouldn’t change a thing. I look at my wife who I love, and I know that a truth of mine.

Our house, our car, the kids who have had kids now, no I say out loud. No, I wouldn’t change anything. But the truth is if it were real and not just a hypothetical question people ask I would go back and I would choose to be brave.

But time travel isn’t real and I am just sitting on this porch watching a storm brewing, missing you.

August 1987

I saw you first. That’s what I always told people. Who knows if it’s true. Your hair was so long it touched the tops of your hip bones, it was real thick too, and if I sit here thinking about it long enough I can smell the shampoo you used to use. I can remember every detail of your face the first day I saw you, but I don’t remember what I said to you. Whatever it was, must’ve been funny because I remember your laugh too. I remember thinking if I had to make a fool of myself every day to hear that laugh, I would do it.

I don’t remember anything else about those bricks we called a school; my buddies used to pick fun at me.

“Ohhh Davie’s all lovestruck he won’t even `member what we’re-a-sayin,” and they would laugh and laugh at me staring out the window thinking of you. They were right though I don’t remember what they were saying, I just remember you.

Sometimes I wish I had been paying attention only, so I could’ve seen it in big screen in my head now. So many of the big details escape me now and what remains is a paper machete memory ghost, and I am just trying to make it stick together.

October 1987

Halloween was your favorite holiday. I can’t take a bite of candy corn without the flavor of your kiss that night stinging my mouth with memories.

I remember walking into the party seeing your flannel and the shortest shorts I think were allowed in public, and catching your eye from across the room. You flashed me the biggest smile and came over right with a candy corn in your mouth to give me a slobbery kiss. It was the kind of kiss that made everyone around you uncomfortable because it felt too private to be public. It didn’t matter you could’ve come up to me with stank breath blowing lines out of your mouth like a cartoon and I would’ve kissed you back just as hard.

I don’t think we stayed at that party for more than hour before you were in my truck and we were in that field, and the Georgia stars were shining so bright. The grass knee-tall we kept the headlights on and hopped out to sway with the wind and no music. We didn’t even feel cold, just basking in our own warmth.

You got grounded; we didn’t get you home until well past curfew. Your dad was standing on the porch waiting and I am not sure if he was mad, disappointed, worried, or just plain tired but I don’t think he liked me much after that.

When I think about that Halloween now, I think about my own girls, and I can’t blame him. I don’t think you ever like the boy your daughter comes home with, but he was right about me, I think.

December 1987

I remember you saying you wanted to cut your hair and make it all curly like the other girls and I didn’t know what to say because I don’t think it mattered about your hair because you was you. You cut it all short to your shoulders and the curls were big and wavy like Dolly, and I can’t say I didn’t like it but I remember thinking you just looked so different.

That Christmas was the end, I think. Not really, the real end, but with hindsight being 2020 and all, I think I see more clearly, and I think that’s where it started.

I saved up all year and got you a necklace from the mall I saw. It was gold, real gold I think, at least it better have been for the price. I remember putting it around your neck and kissing your ear. Your laugh bounced off the forest at the edge of the clearing, you scattered a few birds with that laugh, and you were glowing.

You put a small box in my hand. I don’t remember the rest.

January 1988

The drive out of town was long and quiet. The radio played Ronnie Milsap, and I hummed along pretending this was just a normal day. You didn’t look at me the whole way there, but I kept looking at you. Every chance I got I looked at your curls, your legs, the way your hands lay on your lap. I tried to catch your eyes at red lights.

Those are the hardest to remember now, I think they were brown but I just can’t be sure.

The building I remember being made of brick, like the school was. I asked if you wanted me to come in with you. You didn’t answer so I turned off the truck and sat waiting for you there.

You came back out, looking normal. I’m not sure what I expected you to look like, but I could see it was done. I didn’t ask.

We drove back in silence still. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know how to be there for you or what to be for you. I was scared but you were more scared and I just sat there waiting for you to be the brave one.

February 1988

You stopped meeting me after class. I chased after you, but you wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t speak to me. I tried to take your books, and you sped up almost into a run.

My friends laughed. They said, “Trouble in paradise Davie?” and then laughed some more. I think I punched Jim after he said that, but I can’t be sure if that’s true or if I just wanted it so bad it became my truth.

April 1988

You weren’t at school anymore. I walked by your house, and your dad met me with a shotgun outside. He said to me, “If I evr’ see yew on this street gin’ I will kill you.”

I almost didn’t care. I almost tried again.

May 1988

I saw you one last time then. You were driving by me walking down the road, going north.

It was at school I heard the girls talking.

“Did you hear, Mary-Ellen had to go live with her relatives up in South Carolina?”

“Well, we all know what that means, you saw her the other day Susan didn’t you say she was like gigantic now”

“Yeah, like totally whale sized.”

They all laughed. I wish I could say I stood up for you, but if I am being honest I don’t remember the rest of that year. I sit here and the only thing I can remember is your hair that first day I saw you.