Ended

"Us" ended that night behind a neighbor's bush.
"My" suicide ended before I could bring myself to swallow the gasoline.

You were my first date, my first kiss, my first love.
You were the most unique, creative, intelligent boy in town.
For six months I was the happiest girl in junior high.
I took everything you did and said and matched my life to yours.

You said dance, I danced.
You said be yourself, I blossomed.
You said I want to feel you, I let you.
You said I want to have sex, I said I was not ready.
You said... goodbye.

That night ended my innocence.
That night began a pattern.

Do you know what this means?

I came into the house, my right middle finger pointed skyward, face lined in anger as I screamed to my mother "do you know what this means?"

My memory says she answered "it means hi" - probably with a tight little smile.

It was summer, I was 11, we'd just moved and I had no friends. I was curious what the boys were doing in the park across the street from my house. When I walked up I was stopped by their hand signal, and the dirt clods they followed it up with. And my mother told me, "they were waving at you!"

I was sure it was NOT a friendly sign, holding up that lone finger, but I really had no clue. I spent a year not knowing and yet pretending I did. When I was sent the signal, I returned it. Seemed logical. I added a smile for good measure.

I was the focus of quite a bit of negative attention. A month after we moved in someone covered the sidewalk and driveway with dirty, mean words. I knew the words, but not the meaning. I met you when I walked next door to ask if anyone at your house had seen anything. You became my first friend in Lamar.

I was instantly in awe of you. It was summer and you had managed to save your Halloween candy in a shoe box under your bed. You allowed yourself a piece a day so it would last all year. Unimaginable.

We played basketball on your driveway. We swam on the swim team. We rode bikes. We talked and talked and it was you that taught me what my parents had not.

I was holding up both hands, middle fingers raised screaming at my my mother "it means FUCK! it means FUCK!" Course I'd just learned a lot more than the word, I'd learned what the word stood for, which was the real reason I was angry. It seems that FUCK is what happens when a man puts his thing into a woman's thing.... blah blah blah... what a HORRID thought! I could not IMAGINE this happening to me. It made the women have a baby. And you said, "women like it!" You got the info from your sister who was in High School, so it must be true.

The next step for you was a boyfriend. He was on the swim team too. There were 3 girls and 3 boys in our age group on the team. I got stuck with the lesser of the three, and well, he did too. You were into making out, I was into wishing I was you.

At our 20 year high school reunion I found myself talking with you and I was in awe of you all over again. You lived in Las Vegas. You and I had both been married at 19 and divorced soon after. You were beautiful and stylish and soft spoken and real. I remember the way the gold lamé gown hung on your frame. You seemed so thin, too thin. We spent the time in Lamar laughing and promising to keep in touch. Then we didn't.

I recently found your first boyfriend online. He became a banker who rides motorcycles. He married his high school sweetheart and they are now grandparents together. He remembers you fondly as his first crush. He remembers you.

I wrote him of your passing, not that I know much.
Drugs, illness, or eating disorder could be the cause - or just the underlying sadness I read in your eyes at that reunion. It was profoundly sad that I could not get anyone to tell me what really happened to you to cause your death.

When I see you again, fill me in ok?
And wear the gold lamé dress.

I felt beautiful in that dress.

Spoiler

It was the Christmas I insisted on no girl presents for me. I wanted only things that a boy would like. I just wanted you to get the message to Santa. He'd been leaving me girl stuff forever and I was sick of it.

My sister was taking her nap when you whispered for me to follow you to a small closet at the back of the house. Inside there were dolls, some dresses and a toy both my sister and I had gone nuts for after seeing it on TV. It was the Flintstone's Dino, the perky purple dinosaur with the baby blue eyes. That toy was a jumbo sized, battery powered, walking, talking, little kid's wet dream. As I reached for it you said, "Oh no! These toys are for your sister. Do you think she'll like them?" I was confused - her birthday was in May and it was December.

And just like that - you spoiled Christmas.
At least you honored my request for boy toys.

You really should have known I could not keep a secret.
I didn't tell her she was getting Dino.
I told her there was no Santa.

The chair

Remember that night at dinner when my sister and I were fighting about which chair we were going to sit in? You got mad and said "what does it matter which chair you sit in?" I answered "neither of us wants to sit by you!"

I would give anything to be able to sit next to you now.

Unbearable

For the record, it wasn't the bear I wanted, but the chance to be on that stage getting the bear. It didn't even look like a real bear with it's pink chest and face, but it was big. As I watched the other kids around the bleachers screaming with joy and racing down to the stage to collect their prizes I could not think past my own need to be a winner.

The winning coupons were hidden in the chocolate bars. Kids rich enough to get the candy got the chance to win a big prize. Grandma had bought us both a bar. I ripped mine open to instant disappointment. She was helping you open yours, but it was me that saw the ticket peaking out. Obsessed, I grabbed the ticket and bolted for the stage. I could hear your surprise and screams behind me but they were drowned out by the crowd cheering for all the winning kids collecting their big pink and black bears. I was a perfect angel as a clown handed me my prize. I was beaming. I was a winner. But it did not feel like I'd imagined it would. The moment my arms were around the bear and I was headed back up into the stands the guilt hit. I had cheated. I was a cheater.

To deal with my guilt, I had a story by the time I got up to our seats. I had gone to get the bear for you. I had done this favor for you because I was your big sister. I was too old for bears. You were too little to go down to the stage. The clowns would have scared you. My words did nothing to stop your tears. You wrapped your arms around the bear but it was not a comfort to either of us. Grandma was glaring at me. Everyone was glaring at me. Cheater. Thief. Bad girl.

You kept that bear on your bed.
Maybe you even forgot the day you got it, but I never did.

Sorry.

Pen pals

You knew me as Debbie, or "the girl across the street."

We were both 10 and we spent 2 weeks catching butterflies and mounting them to black velvet in the cool dark of your grandparents' house on Quivera in Great Bend, Kansas. You were my friend at a time when I had no friends. I don't remember your name. I don't remember a thing we talked about. But your hair was blond and your skin was tan and you were the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. You were an angel. I wanted to scream "I love you" every time our eyes met.

When you left, I thought we'd be pen pals.
This is the first time I've ever written you.
Write back if you get this.

At fault

My sister was on the swings.
Her long golden curls framing her golden face.
Her eyes bright blue, like a doll. A five year old doll.

While you stared at my sister swinging, I was staring at you. You wore a white short-sleeved shirt and had a plastic pocket protector full of pens, like my uncle's. Your pants were black and your shoes were shiny. You were tall, but all adults were tall to me when I was seven. In my child's memory I dress you in a trench coat, but that has to be wrong. It was mid summer in Kansas and at least 90 degrees. Even in your white shirt, you would be sweating. Or maybe it was fall, almost winter. In my child's memory I see brown trees and gray sky. Surely this could not have happened on a sunny day.

My knees were scabs and my white skin never seemed to glow like my sister's. She was all dimples and giggles. I was brooding and annoying. She was snow white and I was ugly and you wanted her.

You walked behind her and took the chains in your hands and pulled her back against your chest. There was a pause as if you were inhaling her, then you pushed, and she flew.

At first you did not notice I was talking to you. It took quite a bit to get you to focus on me and not the doll on the swing, but I did my best to show how interesting I could be. The doll barely spoke but I was fluent in adult chatter and you seemed amused that I sought you out.

I lead you away. You followed me deeper into the park. I found a bar and showed you my tricks and you smiled with your wolf's teeth and I pretended not to notice. I wanted to reach a very high trapeze. I asked you to help me. You picked me up by the armpits and pulled me against your chest. There was a pause as you made sure the pens in your pocket caught the front of my shirt and pulled it open so you could look down my chest to see my nipples. I struggled to get out of your arms but held me tight as your eyes lingered. Then you lifted me within reach of the trapeze and said, "See, I am just helping you up."

My sister had wandered to where we were. I had to let you help me down, it was too far to drop. You were smiling at my sister as your hand moved between my legs and you pressed your fingers into me.

Your car was parked by the water fountain. I told you I was thirsty. I told you my sister was thirsty. When she was next to me at the fountain, I knew there was no explaining - so I just whispered in her ear, "RUN!" I ran us through the space in the fence I knew your car could not follow. I ran us six blocks without stopping to grandmother's house, where our mother was.

I told my mother what you did.
I told everyone what you did.
But I was always talking, talking, talking.
They thought it was just another story.
And I thought it was all my fault.