Letter 21

Do you remember that day in the park?

I lazed atop the hill with the tree,

listening to your voice and your Ukulele

blend into a melody I never heard before

but realized I wanted to hear again and again.

“A work in progress,” you confessed sheepishly.

The sun shone on your face so I could see you better.

.

Or what about that baseball game?

When officials botched a call, your eyes engulfed in fire

as you roared, “Where did they get that Umpire?”

I felt surprised that you, who so delicately sang before,

now sent out war cries across the stadium.

You seemed to enjoy yourself, though.

Your energy made me laugh. Your passion made me smile.

.

But senior year! You must remember that.

Our classes on statistics or femurs and the cranium,

or on economics or isotopes of Uranium.

We never shared so many classes before.

Baseball may have been where you let loose,

but school was a sport you played by the rules.

That is, except for when you let me copy an assignment or two.

.

What about when I changed my hair?

I wanted a new style and began to wonder what

would look nice when you recommended an Undercut.

They weren’t popular at school and I only saw a few before,

but she said, “You look good with anything. It’s your talent.”

I may or may not have blushed. And later at school,

I couldn’t tell if people were looking at my hair or at us holding hands.

.

I remember when, like a scene in a novella,

we ran through the rain sharing one Umbrella.

You and I never saw a storm like that before.

I remember getting soaked, shoes muddy from the grass,

and taking refuge in a nearby Underpass.

You wrapped yourself around me like never before.

I remember our kiss while waiting for the weather to disperse

as if we were the only ones in the Universe.

You gave a hug much tighter than before.

.

Do you remember? I do.

.

It’s okay if you don’t. I suppose my point is that

all those good things that happened to me

began with you.

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