You instantly start remembering them.
Everything that pops in your head is a quirk-
Or an amazing show of love…
You are asked to speak at their funeral,
And you can’t remember what car they drove-
Even though you rode in it all the time….
Nothing about their house sticks out,
Nothing nice anyways…
You can’t even remember what clothes they wore,
Only the clothes they didn’t…
No, all you can remember is the time you shit your pants as a little boy and made a goddam mess all over the “Knights” bathroom at Round Table Pizza. And they went in there and found you and and cleaned it all up- for at least thirty minutes on probably a Saturday Night.
Or all the times they drove you to the beach and let you play the music you wanted, and bring girls- and they didn’t tell the girls about the time you shit your pants at Round Table Pizza.
Or that they let you spend the night and trusted you and their son to not start a fire in the kitchen making Macaroni and Cheese.
You remember how often they said you were the best athlete in town, the best kid, the smartest- even though you now know those things weren’t true.
Kids don’t know though. What the adults they respect tell them is gospel. The good stuff gets ’em through. The bad stuff haunts them…
There is nothing haunting about you, Mary. Only stuff that got me through, made me think I was special- not just some kid who couldn’t make it to the toilet at Round Table Pizza…
No idea what your clothes were or what you drove– was it a Rabbit maybe? Anyways, it doesn’t matter. You were all love, all positive reinforcement. And you will never be forgotten- because there is plenty to remember you by.
You made your mark. You lived and you loved. What else is there?
*I wrote this with tears dripping down onto my laptop (not too many, don’t worry), and you’d be proud- I’m sitting on a toilet, about to wipe myself.
Want to get these posts delivered to you the moment they are published?