I want to forget about you. And your smile and your face and your ridiculous hair when it grows too long. I want to forget about that coffee and the Blink 182 song and Airport Road and every patient attempt you made to teach me anything about tennis; every time you said “Jamie, that’s ridiculous” or “You’re ridiculous” or “Seriously? Ridiculous!” I want your face to no longer be burned into my mind, please, to the little man with the branding iron of his face, I beg of you, climb out of my brain and go torture someone else. I want to not think of your crooked smile and your blonde features and your freckly shoulders and your love for all things Scotland. I wish I wasn’t thinking about how white your hair gets in the summer from the sun bleaching. I want to not look through your photos on Facebook and wonder what if, what would have been, what could have been…what should I have done differently–god he looks handsome there, could I have changed it? Could it have worked? But I’m a democrat, and well, he voted for Bush…and he’s a pretty big Christian, and well, I’m not and his family, they’re not so fond of me–for their well deserved reasons, and mine loves him and remember that time he tackled me in the middle of the street (you’re right, there were many)…could we have made it work? If anyone could, we could, right? Could we? Would we? Will we ever try again? I have photos of us, we’re children, really, dressed up like we have somewhere to go, something to do, someone important to impress–but we didn’t. It was just homecoming, it was just prom, it was just a Friday night at the only place we and our friends could find to be ornery…and young love…and that was it…right? That I crave the sight of his face, his shoulders, his rough Iowa boy hands and the way he sits when he drives a car always leaning towards the right so all his energy was directed towards me…that’s just crazy…that’s just a childish desire based on unrealistic expectations of a boy I once loved as a kid, right?
I want to forget about you and your stupid blue wool socks. Please, take them away. Please go away…or stay…..enough of this. Enough.