Sometimes Remembering Hurts.

Dear Keith.

I'm angry with you. I just want to tell you I miss you.  I wish you were here.  I hate the gaping hole in my chest that you left.  I hate that when I drive down the street, I see you.  I see you in the teenagers running from school.  I see you when I look at young boys with their baseball caps and their nice clothes.  I see you everywhere.  For a flutter of a second, my breath will catch and I'll fight the urge to look back, reminding myself "he's not here".  I hate that losing you was the best thing you ever taught me.

Do you remember the last time I saw you? We stayed up all night. You made me PROMISE you that I'd never EVER smoke weed. You told me, "you'll never let it go. You'll never get out of it.  Don't do it.  Promise me you won't do it Chubby." and I promised. I'm proud to say that I've stayed away from it.  And every time it is ever brought across my path, I think of you and the promise I made.  That night, you told me how beautiful I was.  You told me that you'd beat any boy who treated me wrong, and you told me that my insides were the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.  You told me "you are the best of them".  Every once in a while Goose still tells me that and I always think of you.  We talked about everything you ever regretted.  We talked of the ambitions you wished you had followed, and how Goose was your ultimate best friend.  I think Goose would just smile if he heard all the stories you told me that night.

You tucked me in and you told me that you loved me.  I remember you kissed my forehead and hugged me so tight.  And then the next morning, when you were going back to Texas, you hugged me and you said, "Remember what you promised me. You're beautiful. I love you and I'll see you at Christmas." Those were the last words I ever heard you say.  You never came home for Christmas.  Everything after that is blurred together.  If I try really hard I can remember details, but I don't like to.  I don't like to think of how angry it makes me.  And I hate to cry.  You boys always told us girls to not cry, "keep yo' chin up". I try really hard to do just that.

We found this video of you boys playing basketball.  I watch it in fascination that you actually moved, laughed, and talked.  Sometimes I think you are a fragment of my imagination.  I had forgotten how your voice sounded.  It was nice to hear it.  It was beautiful to watch you just.. be.  I miss you. It seems so elementary, yet it's so complex... But I wish you were here.