Standing on the corner, I could imagine her crossing this path. I could imagine the space of 12 years, the thousands of footfalls on this same path, yet hers and mine met eventually here.
We were together once, a dozen and still seven more.
Blood rushes to my head when I think of that time, those years ago. Driving East to meet her in her house, so far away, it makes me laugh when I think of those journeys. I had made my way through the awkward stage and started to become who I am. But those were here, where we met. She transferred to my school to be with me and I ended up abandoning her in the summertime. A summer not unlike the one I'm having now....
We saw each other again later, she still moved in circles that intersected with mine. I apologised to her, full of alcohol but the meaning not dulled. She was angry and I accepted that. I had to, I was at fault. I hurt her, and then I hurt inside, in spite of myself. I'm not sure she knew what to make of that. We talked, but I knew nothing was in the offing...we remained friends. I had heard stories of her losing herself that summer...over me? Who can say. Perhaps I saw her moving down that road and that's why I let her go.
And yet still later, I saw her again. My heart quickened when I saw her, as it always does when I think of her, still. We talked and talked. I was glad she was there, she knew where she was going and who would be there. I lost her in the evening, but I hoped I'd see her again. I haven't.
We talked years later, again. I don't know that I've talked to her since. I can still find her sometimes, though. People are easy to find when you know where to look for them.
I don't see her, except in my head, in the pictures that I have of her, in the memories of her house, of 6th avenue.
Now she lives where I used to, walks the streets that I did, once. Our footfalls cross on streets I don't think about anymore, but once knew as surely as the notes in my ears, now. Thinking back to our younger years, I blink and wonder where they went. Sometimes I look for her when I drive here. I remember her address. I think of her there and see the ghosts of days past, of us meeting on the corner and intersecting on the avenue. Only I'm not there, but she'll look around, because she knows I'm there.
Yet here I am, down south. On no avenue, I stare out and dream, wide awake.
Yet another O:KMMS post. June 28, 2006