It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you, I thought you were dead.
Are you still living there in that old house your parents left you in the old town where we went to high school together?
Are you doing well? Still working for old what’s his name?
Do you still have that dog who used to chew on my new shoes when I came over to work on physics homework?
What ever happened to that girl you were seeing?
I remember that old Mustang you bought with the money from that job at the little convenience store. You couldn’t go to the movies with us on Friday nights cause the old guy who ran it was on his weekly bender and needed someone to mind the store and watch out for shoplifting teenage deviants.
Going to that concert with the loose tailgate held on with a jump-starting cord running under the car, held tight by slamming the doors shut.
Getting that speeding ticket from the state trooper and getting tongue lashing from your Pops the next day. “Why didn’t you tell him your father was a State Trooper!”
Buying the booze because your beard made you look ten years older. Parking in the woods, taking a sip and talking about high school drama.
Asking that freshman out on a date when you were a senior. Sure she was big and mature for age but her parents sure didn’t like it. At least she got out of the house for once and had some excitement to tell here friends.
You didn’t know that as a goof we followed along like movie cops trailing a suspect, sitting just a few rows behind, speeding down the highway when we lost sight of your car. What are friends for if not to give one a hard time and bust chops?
Something happened after high school. We lost touch. We went different ways. Your father died. He never approved of your friends. Too wild. Too “artistic”.
You got married. Settled down. Became the science teacher you idolized. That guy was a piece of work. Too young. Too close to the kids. Showed up at parties. You could get away with that stuff back then. Nowadays you’d be fired.
That guy got divorced. Then remarried but now he spends his time in a retirement community in Fort Myers. His wife didn’t join him. Says it’s too hot down there.
I don’t think you are that guy. But who knows. I find those who don’t want to be found are hiding something. Hiding from those who know them best. Those who were there in the begining. Those who know the embarrasing secrets.
It’s easier to start over when those in the know are kept in the dark.
— Edward Fielding, 2021
