i will remember her:
October first. the day i was to see Bayside play a home show at Irving Plaza, the band that seemed to know the highs and lows, the lilts and curls of our rollercoaster. i will remember the sketch sent, the apology text, the opening of that door. it meant everything because it meant i could heal and she would help me do it. it meant everything because it meant a break in the silence. later, she gave me a letter that meant everything and now i can listen to Megan without crying.
i will remember her:
all the times she took care of me like i took care of her. for every late night vigilance outside her door, every cab ride i bought because of her train schedule impatience, every time i held her hair back, for every cancelled plan and held hand and kissed tear, there she was, holding me on Lexington, wanting to kill that girl at Subculture, reciting movies back to me, kissing me to waves of acoustic, showing me my heart.
i will remember her:
sleepy eyes as she rolled out of bed at 7:45 to take me to the train for work. the elevator stopped for us unkindly, we shuffled into the box, she leaned against the frame of it, and i leaned into her, tousling her hair. like a cat, she pushed her head into me, face slack and tired, eyelashes lowered, caring enough to do this day after day. the car cold, defrosting as we held hands, speeding toward the eastbound line.
i will remember her:
on mondays most of all. monday nights and House is on. a show that framed us, laced our drinks and stories. when she couldn’t watch it, i taped it, brought it over, saw it on dvd later in the week. but mostly we watched it together that second semester; she had no night class. we learned our lips and hands, the skin of our sides, by the television broadcast. we needed no diagnosis.
i will remember her:
playing pong with tangerine nails, Family Guy on like static noise. we played a lot, just the two of us, or whoever else happened to be there, sometimes Mike, sometimes more. it felt like a college throwback, Asher Roth through the computer speakers, ‘that party last night was awfully crazy, i wish we’d taped it.’ she almost always owned the table, except for when we teamed up, or i beat her. i didn’t often beat her but i did come close. i call it a graduate’s lack of practice.
i will remember her:
before i knew her, when she was just a vendor with peanuts, and i was just a ballpark fan with an excuse. i’d noticed her once before but this time i saw her circling the stands and thought, what have i to lose? i must have spent ten minutes with my nerves shaking me, repeating that question, standing behind the pillar at 203, before i worked up the balls to buy peanuts and ask for her number.
i will remember her:
in food. in how she loves pork chops, breaded, and i hate them. in her choice of Chinese, the same order every time, in fortune cookies. in Taco Bell and Wendy’s, fast food i don’t eat. in crepes and bubble tea, in Cascarino’s, the best pizza i’ve ever had. in how she dislikes fish but loved seafood risotto. in Outback, in Applebee’s, in Friday’s. in iced coffee and egg bagels and lava cakes and oatmeal cookies. in the only brownies i’d ever eat that she’d bake for me.
i will remember her:
the day after Halloween, that saturday night, i couldn’t make my train home, i had to stay the night, i felt like a horrible imposition. she went to a party, i watched her dog, i fell asleep in her bed. at two in the morning i woke to her hands trailing my side, her behind me. for the first time i knew her skin so intimately, a surprise that floored me, i thought i was literally dreaming. that i would wake up from it. instead i saw the sunrise reflected in her eyes.
i will remember her:
tentative after our first date movie, not ready to call it a night, she drove us to the rooftop of my first job, a movie theatre. i wanted to share that with her, it had been a home away from home. we stared at the sky and found no stars, just rolling shifts of navy and darker. we talked but didn’t touch, the tension painted us. i ordered domino’s to the roof and i remember her laughter that they brought it to us at all.
i will remember her:
new haircut in the dead of winter, the snow all around us. we went to the dorms at her school to pick up her friend. she wanted to know what i thought of her hair. i kissed her. she smiled. i kissed her again. we made heat in the car, amplified by keeping our clothes on but our hands never off each other as we waited for her friend to come to the car. that’s what i thought of her haircut.
