the wrong i did

And maybe were wrong to let it go      Maybe we were wrong to keep it so long We were only dust and fragile clay      Flying far, miles away

          She had been scrubbing at that plate for far too long, her fingers withered and wrinkled from the dishwater. The plate was spotless, but she scrubbed at invisible specks and tried to put her focus on that. It was the only thing breaking the silence, the slight squeak of the sponge against the ceramic. She wasn’t even too sure what she was doing anymore- with everything. Dishes, life, him. What were they doing anymore? It’s hard for her to say anything just as it’s hard for her to hold her tongue. She’s desperate to get in his head, but that would make her a hypocrite, wouldn’t it? All they ever did was go back and forth, prying at each other’s wall they kept around themselves. Why does it feel like she has made no progress in tearing his down? It still stands tall, sturdier than hers ever was. She was growing weary.

           She finally lets go of the plate, watching it sink with the other dishes, the clanking a bit startling. She clutches the counter and stares at the dirty dishwater. These days were getting harder and harder and neither would address it. Neither would do anything about it. She turns, looks at he sits at the kitchen table, his eyes on some piece of literature. It takes her a moment to even find her voice, and the words that finally come out were ones she wished she could have said differently. “What are we even doing anymore, Beckett?”

               he’s reading to kill a mockingbird. at least, he’s trying to convince himself that he is. but to be honest with you, he’s been lingering on this page for the last half hour or so. the words are words he’s seen before. back in his days of war, he read this novel religiously; it’s one of the only things he brought with him, and it’s still the same copy to this day. the pages are burnt yellow and the print inked in a heavy, somewhat smudged black from old dampness. no matter how dilapidated and decrepit this book gets, he’ll always know the words like they’re etched in the back of his mind. so why the hell is he stuck? 

            he knows luna. she’s the ring he wears on his right hand, god dammit. and they’ve been together for, god knows how long, and her hair is burnt yellow and sometimes he sees smudged black around her eyes from old tears. but hers is a book he can’t read. not tonight. no, because tonight, he feels so far away. and it’s his fault, mostly. he comes home, blood red eyes, begging to sleep but never quite finding his way into bed. he has new wounds he won’t tell her about. it’s a miracle she hasn’t left him, but they’ve still got the same love to this day. at least, he prays nightly that she does, when they’re both back to back in bed and pretending to sleep.  

             tired, calm ocean eyes look up from the same word to fall into her own. he licks his lips, and the cigarette he’s forgotten that’s been wedged between two digits is singed into the ashtray. it’s mostly eroded, anyway. he shakes his head and sighs heavy, like he’s moving a mountain. 

      My eyes rose to meet his, a burning sensation stinging my eyes. I had been convinced for years that the last time I’d see this boy was the day he left for the war. I had convinced myself that I would move on, seek home in something else. Maybe I thought I had successfully done that, but as I sat here on the floor in front of him… it was painfully clear to see that it was all just a lie. A lie I told myself so I wouldn’t run back home. I was selfish… Always afraid of what the war would do to him. If he’d even come back at all. I lived each day in fear, in agony back in Alabama, and that’s the memories I attach that place with now. Being alone, afraid, and hopeless without my rock. I was selfish. I needed him so much that I decided to remove him from my life completely. Like an addict getting rid of drugs just to relapse right here and right now. Except he wasn’t a drug. He was wonderful. He was so goddamn wonderful.

      “I don’t know what I want,” I told him quietly, hugging my legs because I needed something to hold onto. When I looked up at him, I felt words on the tip of my tongue but I didn’t make a sound. Finally looking at him made me suddenly melt, the feeling I used to get when I was just a kid in high school with the biggest crush in the world for my best friend. It didn’t make any sense. Tears collected in my eyes and I finally managed to admit it out loud. Finally able to confront my own demons. “How can you still love me? How can you sit there and say you love me after all these years? After I just… left.” Rubbing my lips together, I shrugged my shoulders and said quieter, “I love you. You know that, and it makes sense. But you loving me? Doesn’t. It just doesn’t.”

      I looked down at the ground, unable to keep my eyes on her the moment she started crying. I’d missed her laughter. She painted the pictures all too well through her photographs and letters, but those memories were just that - memories. I couldn’t help but think that all my reappearance did was cause her more pain, more pain than she ever felt when I had left the first time. I sighed, holding the bridge of my nose; my mind was screaming. I couldn’t take apart one thought from another and I felt like I would be stuck there for the rest of my life, all these croaks of fallen soldiers and Roslyn’s sweet words to me from so long ago. I found myself sitting beside her, resting my head against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. It’d been leaky a while back; I could tell from the stains. I wondered, for a moment, who she got to fix it. 

     When she started asking all the questions I felt like my heart had been breaking beyond repair. She was a beautiful girl, so full of life and love, and I was worried that this whole encounter was slowly stripping it away from her. I wondered if it was stripped away from her the moment I’d left and she began to run, searching for a place she belonged to replace my absence. I shook my head in denial of every single question’s existence, but my voice was gentle. “No, no, no... Angel, hey... no. It makes sense,” I reassured her, furrowing my eyebrows. I could look at her now; reach over and wipe tears from her cheeks with the swipe of my thumb. “You ain’t do anythin’ wrong. Trust me. I would’a done the same thing. You leavin’ was what was best for you, Ros, trust me. I jus’... I’m here now to ask you if this is still what you want. GImme a reason to stay ‘nd I’ll stay, but if you wanna be alone, follow your dreams out there... go for it, darlin’. I’ll support you. On my heart I will. You’ll always be my girl but I gotta let you go if s’what you want.”

      I felt a little embarrassed to show him my place, and I was never the type to get all that self-conscious. The fact he had to see what I had, what little I had, and know in his heart that this is what I left him for. A small apartment, a nearly broken sink, and a shitty job that didn’t possess even a glimpse of my dream. I didn’t know, don’t know what I’m doing. I’m a little lost, wandering this road until I found the place I was meant to be. These days, I’m never too sure. My father never found his place, maybe I wouldn’t either.

      After setting down my things on the counter, I walked over and leaned against the wall in front of him. I wanted to sit by him, but after that car ride, I figured the only thing we could do was ease our way towards one another. Ease our way past ten years. When he asked me the simple question, I found myself not knowing what to say. On one hand, I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him that I was happy and give him wondrous details of my life… but Beck could see right through me. He always knew when I was fibbing or telling the truth.

      “No,” I answered quietly and truthfully, “It’s only temporary.” Just like everything else in my life.

      “Know how badly I jus’... I jus’ wanna take you home?” I asked, looking over at her, eyebrows furrowed momentarily before my face softened and my gaze tore away from her. I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed deeply, wiping my smile off. With careful words and tentative eyes finding her own again, I asked my question. “You wanna jus’... keep searchin’? Keep bein’ lost? Would it be better if I jus’... if we jus’ acted like we ain’t ever see each other tonight? ‘Cause I’m lookin’ at you ri’ now, lookin’ at us, and... I love you, I wan’ you to - to stay more than anythin’, but I ain’t got much to offer. Not li’ what the road can give you, you know?” 

       I had been selfish enough to leave after graduation when I did, in pursuit of my own destiny. She didn’t stop me because she knew it was what I wanted. It was about time I returned her favor, but I just needed to know. I felt guilt bottle up in my throat after a moment of processing what I’d just set on her. It was difficult, and I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I knew that I’d abide by whatever she wanted, perpetually framed to give her the life she deserved at any cost. “And I’m sorry for layin’ this down on you, darlin’, I am. I figure it’ll be easier if it happens... quick.”

      I wanted to ask him why… how did he find me? After I left him with that letter in a time he needed me the most… It didn’t make any sense for him to look for me, for him to even think of me anymore. But he did, and that just showed me once again who the better person was. He was supposed to hate me, deem me selfish for leaving when I did. For giving up on us… Whatever we were. But I decided to hold my tongue, because the more I talked, the more I opened old wounds that didn’t need to be touched. I simply scrunched my nose playfully when he ruffled my hair just as I always did back in the day. It made me laugh halfheartedly, all the little memories piling in one by one.

      I watched him put out his cigarette, something I necessarily didn’t even question. It’s not that I never imagined Beck picking up the bad habit, but just because of everything a cigarette embodies. It shows the lines on his face, a glimpse behind a tested man by war with the ease of a drag to soothe his soul. So, I paid no mind because we all have our own battles. I slid off the hood, bringing the pie down with me. I didn’t feel like finishing my piece, which was slightly out of character. I tossed it in the trashcan nearby and put my bag’s strap on my shoulder. A warm smile adorned my lips, but it was small in size. “Okay,” I told him, “You’ll stay with me. Not much better than a cheap motel, but it’s somethin’.”

     And again I found myself wedged in a surreal reality when she’d pointed the way to her apartment. The difference was that we were somewhat quiet; the music from the radio spoke for us and got rid of all the silence, although we were still rivers away from each other. It was just looking at her that made it all feel like old times again. 

     When we arrived at her apartment, I was a bit surprised at how small it was. It was ironic; the bird was trying to set herself free but she landed in a birdhouse. I didn’t think much about it though. It was still her regardless of how small it was, pieces of her personality scattered everywhere here and there in some strange organizational pattern. I saw her ballet shoes sitting in the corner and I couldn’t help but smile warmly to myself. I sat on her bed and looked up at her; maybe we were estranged, but she was still my best friend. I messed with my hands a little and looked forward, eyebrows furrowing as I pondered what to say first. 

     “You like it out ‘ere? This where you wanna be?”

      I began to pick at the pie, eyes on the cherry sauce that oozed out with every stab we took at it. I couldn’t really look at him, because if I did, I knew asking him how are you wasn’t nearly sufficient for a conversation. I didn’t want to face that reality just yet, or so I thought. Once he explained the time he had back home after the war, I finally brought my eyes to his, eyebrows furrowed together. Was this not pure accidental? Was he searching for me? That’s why I gave him that letter, as much as it killed me to write. I didn’t want him to look for me. I couldn’t carry the weight of his war anymore, couldn’t bear to wait out another second for him to come home. I was a bird in a birdcage, he always told me that. I just needed to fly. I just needed to leave. I didn’t want him to find me, because I didn’t want him to hold onto me. I’m a mess. Restless, fickle, and naïve. But he is like a stone- solid, study, dependable. I didn’t want him to sink in my wavering ocean.

      “You came lookin’ for me?” I inquired softly. I wasn’t sure what to say after that. Wasn’t too sure what to do with myself. On one hand, it was oddly romantic, even if our romance had always been a gray area between the both of us. But all the while, I wanted him to go home, because he deserved to be in a place that was both beautiful and loving like he was. My home was the road, my life was the road, and I didn’t want that for him. He didn’t need the freedom like I did. I was born with this desire, this painful notion to break free. From what? I’ll never know. I just know it was in my blood. My father knew it, my mother knew it, and I was sure he knew it. “I’ve missed you,” I suddenly blurted, the words never meaning to leave my lips. “So much.”

      I felt the need to touch her, so I did. My free hand reached over to ruffle her hair, the other flicking ashes of my cigarette onto the gravel of the parking lot. I used to do this all the time back when we were younger; when I needed to remind her how different we were in terms of size but made up for it later with an apologetic kiss on the top of her head, a gesture that said we are not equal, but we fit together in body and soul. “Missed you too, angel, you know that,” I responded, hand leaving her head to rest on my lap. I’d been done with my half of the pie a long time ago, taste of cherry still tang on my lips. All the poison from my smoke made for a slightly bitter taste, but it was filling and sweet nonetheless. I blew out away from the both of us, a manner I’d grown ever since I moved back home; when I was away, it didn’t really matter that much. The smoke was the nicest thing we’d smell all day. 

      A few moments later, when I’d gotten rid of the majority of the cigarette, I slipped away from the hood of my truck and dropped it, stepping on the remains. I wondered what she thought of the dirty habit I’d picked up over the years; I wondered what she thought of me in general. In my best nights I’d communicated the best parts of who I was in the letters that I wrote to her, but that was so long ago. I didn’t know if she remembered who I was anymore. We’d both grown, grown apart; and yet we still found ourselves craving to be back together, a mysterious cycle that lead me in a diner somewhere I couldn’t name. I looked back at her and licked my lips, motioning my head towards the car. “You got a way home? Lemme drive you. Could talk back at your place, if you’d have me. Ain’t lookin’ to sleep in a cheap motel tonight.”

      A small smile pulled on my lips and I slid my bag off my shoulder and let it rest on the pavement before handing him the paper plate and climbing up onto the truck myself. Folding back the napkin, I revealed a large slice of pie and two forks. “I was hoping you’d share,” I chuckled sheepishly, a little embarrassed that I even packed two forks. I had to admit that it felt a little strange, a little reminiscent if anything, to be on top of that hood with him. Except we weren’t in front of the fields underneath the stars back home, but just the lousy diner that I worked at now. I sighed, and I’m not really too sure why. It could have been out of content, exhaustion, or… that bitter sweet feeling coursing through me. I took it upon myself to take the first bite of the pie, my legs lying out in front of me while my eyes focused on my chucks. “How are you, Beckett?” It was a terrible question, just because it was the kind of question you asked a stranger. We weren’t strangers, but we had to start somewhere.

     I had to play along. I supposed it was better for my sanity that way. I couldn’t jump right in to confrontation because it wasn’t who I was, who we were - whoever we were. I offered her a shrug, taking a small slice of pie. I figured food could give me some time to think about what I was going to say. Words flowed easier from me if I had a pen in hand; with nothing to filter my thoughts, I was a ticking time bomb, hushed out of fear that I’d say something wrong. I wanted so badly to tell her I missed her, and that I desperately needed her back; she was a part of me that has been absent too long. I was afraid that all the horrors of war would come back and haunt me if I didn’t have her to keep them all away. I wanted so badly to be the football star that drove her around after school back in the day, but the truth is, maybe I was on a different path too. 

     “I’m doin’ well, darlin’,” A moment later I gave her a reassuring answer with a soft sigh. It wasn’t sad, but it wasn’t happy. My gaze fell onto the street in front of us, cars every now and then filtering in and out of the roads, and I wondered if some of them were going home or running away from it. “Some reason, I thought that when I’d come back to Alabama, ‘d see you there,” I said with a light chuckle. “Reread all your letters ‘nd everythin’, it was all so real. You and me. Then I came home and I ain’t find you anywhere, but I wasn’t... angry. Jus’ knew I needed to find you. You were missin’ and I was missin’ you.” I laughed softly at my own joke, but it was half-hearted. “‘nd now here you are.” For a moment, I looked over at her; it wasn’t long before I busied myself with the pie in between us. “How are you?”

      I dropped my hand slowly, fingers grazing against the roughness of his jaw before falling back to my side. My stomach twisted into knots. I’d get knots in my stomach before I performed, before I danced and gave an audience my all… but he did something to me that was incomprehensible. It wasn’t just my stomach, my whole body was in knots, tied over and over again for him. But I’m never too sure whether I hated that feeling or actually found some sort of bliss in it.

      “I remember,” I smiled warmly and gave him a nod. “Twenty minutes.” And with that, I turned after giving him a small smile then made my way towards the back. This was the perfect chance for me to make an escape, run far away so I didn’t have to deal with the past biting me in the ass. Didn’t have to deal with the fires I started back in Alabama. And though it was the perfect chance, I had no desire to take it. I had no desire to run, because my boy was waiting by that damn red pick-up waiting for me. It’d be a sin to run from that.

      I changed out of my work clothes, lucky enough to have some normal non-stained apparel in the bag I packed for dance. It felt pretty pointless to look in the mirror, run my fingers through my hair, and wipe away smudges of food from the collision… but I did anyways. I was nervous and wanted to look more like the girl he knew rather than the trainwreck that I am. With my bag on my shoulder, I headed outside after my shift came to an end, and I saw him waiting there for me. I inhaled, though it still felt like no air reached my lungs, and walked over to him. Not knowing what to say, I smiled softly and whispered once again as if we were seeing one another all over again, “Hi.” Opening up my bag, I showed him a plate wrapped in a paper towel before adding, “I snagged you some apple pie, if you’re interested.”

     So I kept my eyes straight, setting my things back into my car. It was probably a mistake not bothering to eat, since that was what I had entered the diner for in the first place, but food was the last thing on my mind. I felt so full of love that I could barely eat. All that I kept thinking of while I waited for her was everything I wanted to say; if any of it was what I wanted to say when I had first set out to look for her. I had always planned to fight for her, but how I’d fight for her varied on how she was doing. She seemed alright to say the least; she hadn’t been the dancer she’d written about wanting to be, but I had this feeling that she was working on it. The way she walked, carried herself with elegance; she couldn’t forgo the things she was passionate for so easily. She talked about dreams in every single conversation we had back when we were younger, and she’d tell me all about how she was going to reach all of them. Her determination and willpower was non-negotiable. 

     Needless to say, my mind had been racked with thoughts of her for the last twenty minutes. I had to pick up the dirty habit that I’d been trying to drop since I came home, pulling out a cigarette from my back pocket and lighting it up. It was the only way I knew how to clear my mind, miraculously discovering clarity in the mud of my lungs and heart. I’d been sitting on the hood of my truck - which was parked the other way, so I didn’t have a view of Ros shuffling about in the diner - and listening to music that had been playing on the radio just loud enough for me to hear it. I’d reached complete quiet in my mind, immersed in the lyrics of the music, when she came out and said hello to me all over again, my mind melting. “Hi,” I said, giving her a warm smile before sitting up. I blew smoke out the other way before I took the plate from her, chuckling. “Thanks. You wanna share this with me? Can’t finish it alone.”

      He told me I was beautiful, and for some reason, the words nearly brought tears to my eyes. His gentle touch was something I missed; my gentle giant. I didn’t know what to say, because I knew I didn’t deserve his kindness. Especially not now as I got the urge to run… I was used to growing restless, finding the road a better home than where I lie my head, but now… I’m not sure what I wanted to run away from. Maybe my ghosts, the things that weighs on my soul heavy. The regret and guilt I felt when I looked into his eyes. But those familiar hues was also the reason why I had to stay. It had been ten long years, and for once, I knew I had to stop if only for a moment.

      “Soon,” I tell him softly with a nod, rubbing my lips together a little nervously. I was afraid of what he had to say, afraid that the past was catching up with me all too quickly. “Just fifteen minutes or so.. Just enough time for me to get you something to eat, if you’d like. On the house.” I picked off some of the food on my apron with a small sigh, momentarily adverting my attention for the sake of my sanity. I know I owe him more than just a free meal, more than just a chance to sit and talk. I owed him everything. So, I looked up, hand reaching out to brush against his jaw gently. “Then we’ll talk.”

      “Ain’t all that hungry anymore,” I answered honestly, a chuckle leaving my lips as I turned back to my booth. My backpack had been sitting there along with a bread bowl and a menu that had been left open from when I last prodded into it. 

      I leaned into her touch against my jaw but I knew it was distant. Perhaps she’d fallen out of love with me - didn’t love me anymore, but at the same time she always would. It made my stomach turn how bad I’d been to her for going away. All I had to do was stay, but I had bigger things, bigger dreams that pulled me towards them and peeled me away from the things that kept me grounded. I couldn’t damn her for doing the same thing that I did. We were just the right love at the wrong time, but I wanted to set that prospect on fire. 

     “I’ll clean up and meet you ‘round my car in ‘bout twenty, yeah? It’s the red pick up truck.” She was probably more familiar with that car more than she had been with me; I’d had it for over a decade, since I was sixteen. We’d had some of our best nights in the back of that truck. 

      I returned the embrace, hands nearly crumpling up the fabric of his shirt into my palm. I resisted from hugging any tighter, already knowing eyes were on us in this small little diner, and I didn’t need to bring any more attention to either of us. It was just a hug to the public, but something so much more underneath the surface. My eyes fluttered shut and resisted the urge to water up, because I was suddenly engulfed with different emotions, feeling the weight of the world crush on my chest, yet all the while feeling weightless. I knew he shouldn’t be holding me, shouldn’t be pulling me close when all I deserved was to be pushed away. But I was selfish, so I let him get close, because I needed him to be close.

      When we parted, I felt like we had been standing there for years while the world melted away. I don’t know how long we were standing there, but now all I could do was look at him. It’s funny to think that I used to believe there was no way he could get any taller or broader when we were kids, but here he was hovering over me like a fine soldier. A man. “You grew,” I said lightheartedly, a small laugh spilling from my lips as I held my bittersweet smile.

      I had fallen in love with this woman, but our worlds and paths had pulled us apart. 

      “You’re still beautiful.”

     My hand graced over her cheek, hovering for a moment before I reached over to delicately pinch her chin in my thumb and forefinger. Maybe I’d grown but I knew I was still hers. God only knows if she was still mine, but I’d have no choice but to accept it if she’d changed her mind over the years. She was the woman I fought wars for, the one I’d devoted all these years to; one letter wasn’t going to make me give up on her. 

      I sighed deeply, looking around me for a moment before my eyes fell back onto her. I had completely forgotten where I was for this fraction of time. “When do you get off? I need to talk to you... I got so many things to say, darlin’. If you’d just let me.”

      It’s strange how home to me now was wherever I laid my head. Home was in myself, something I didn’t seek while on the road or lingering in between towns. But the moment I saw him, I was reminded of what home truly was, and how desperately I missed the feeling. The kind of warmth I no longer receive in the coldness of nights. I saw his hands next to mine, picking up scraps as I expected him to. A lump formed in my throat, and though I wanted to say something right then, I couldn’t. It’s funny in a way. He knew me as the girl who could never shut up, and here I was without a thing to say. Seeing him brought on the guilt I felt for leaving him when I did, but I always tried to remind myself that I did it for the good of my own life… At least, that’s what I always hoped it was.

      Rachael took everything to the back and left me on the floor, apron stained with ketchup and god knows what. He helped me up, and though I was reluctant, I placed my hands on his broad shoulders to steady myself on my feet. Like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. My eyes lifted to meet his, and the boy smiled. He smiled. My heart melted right then and there as I brought my hands back to my side, swallowing the lump in my throat so I could return the same soft smile. “Beck,” I whispered softly, though it hadn’t intended to be a whisper. I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear knowing damn well I must look like a wreck. Not the image I wanted him to see after all these years.

     Everything I could have thought of saying had been far too gone at this point, and at the sound of her lips whispering my name I knew I couldn’t salvage any of the residuals. She’d been stuck just as I’d been stuck, both of us searching for things to fill the gaps of silence between the words we needed to say but couldn’t. At the absence of my consciousness, I knew I could only do one thing - pull her in and take her home into my arms. “Roslyn,” 

armslikehome

Remember me to one who lives there                                          She once was a true love of mine.

     It’s kind of silly, but sometimes I find myself practicing during my shifts at the diner. No one seems to pay any mind, because most have grown used to the way I maneuvered in between rows of tables gracefully, feet always strong and study like I need them to be. It’s not always obvious that I’m dancing, because in hindsight, I never really was. Just seeing how swiftly I could move, and how elegantly I could get to point a to point b. It was good practice, especially on those longs shifts where I couldn’t go to the studio to do actual practice. The only times it became a little obvious that I wasn’t just born with grace is when I did random twirls in the middle of the place, eyes on me, most eyebrows raised in confusion. Yeah, sometimes I weirded new customers out, got them wondering if I’m some sort of lunatic. And maybe I am, who knows. At least the loyal customers knew what I was up to. They were the ones who gave big tips, supporting me in any way possible. I was a talker, and they knew of my dreams. It’s sweetness in strangers that I love the most about this place and all the places I visit. In a way, it redeems the harshness of the world.

      Today, however, was a bit different. I wasn’t taking out food to each table by extending my arms and holding my pose. I walked normal knowing that I had time after work to finally get on the studio’s dance floor and do what I was meant to do. The perks of volunteering to teach tots in tutus – free alone time in the room. So, I kept my warm smile and spent most of my shift chit chatting with a few of the customers. This place was never too busy, and I guess that’s another perk of my odd habits. I was in the back whenever Rachel told me there was another customer sitting in my section, so I grabbed my pen and tucked it behind my ear, feeling for my pad of paper in the pocket of my apron. When I walked out to see the table by the window was occupied by a familiar face, my heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t a familiar face because they had been here one too many times, but a face that belonged to a memory of long ago. A little older, a little wiser, but still the boy I knew. Beckett

     But after I got that letter - her letter - I wasn’t quite sure what I was coming home to anymore. I’d fought for my family, fought for my cousins who wanted nothing more than to run free. I fought for my girl more than anything and made sure I was alive every single day just to return and see her, be with her again. Until she sent me that letter, Roslyn was every single thing I was fighting for, what kept me strong. I found solace in our old letters, words we used to say to each other; we’d write memories to each other that I’d sift through on particularly sleepless nights. But now all those letters felt like epitaphs on a grave I didn’t agree to bury. She was done with me, done with Alabama, done with being a bird in a cage desperate to be free. And I wanted to let her fly. But I just couldn’t. 

     I’d found my way home when I was supposed to - when they felt I earned the right to. She wasn’t around, though, so I didn’t stay for long. I kissed my parents goodbye again but I promised to return, like I did the very first time I left - as long as they promised to still be here when I came back. They knew I would be out there looking for her, looking for you - Roslyn Smoak, who danced and sang in my mind like a ghost I didn’t want to exorcise. I’d be back home soon, and I’d have you with me - that’s what I told them. 

     Before I left I had remembered a notebook she used to keep when we were younger. She filled it with mementos from places she’d never been but places she desired to go to, pictures stripped from magazines and pasted onto wilting pages. The spine was broken when I found it, probably from all the times you obsessively looked through it, searching for an escape from where you and I made all these memories. I didn’t know why, don’t know why you would want to leave, but none of that was important because you were gone. I searched for pieces of you, pieces of Roslyn Smoak, lingering in the notebook, scouring my way through the Southern coast ‘til I made a temporary stop in one of the quieter towns outside of Nashville, Tennessee, above Alabama. 

     Everything seemed normal until I saw you - saw her. 

     She was as beautiful as I’d remembered leaving her, if not more, a girl blossomed into a woman. I didn’t notice it was her at first, ironically enough; I didn’t know I’d find her here, out of all places. I always thought I’d come across her name in marquee, dancing or singing. But she was in a waitress’ uniform in a nameless spot of Tennessee, picking up pieces of things she’d broken, remnants of the glass jar I’d saved everything in. Wordlessly, I decided to help her, out of my own hospitality. I wasn’t thinking about how she left me then - I was just thinking about helping her.