epilogue:

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:

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.

i will remember her:

every time i drive by the stadium. i’d been avoiding it; i haven’t been there since that night. but last night, there i was, following my friend home. i cried the whole way. i talked to her out loud, told her i still loved her, even though she wasn’t there to hear me, and even though she hasn’t been to the stadium in over a month. she moved back to Queens, back to our sheets, forgot that i bought them, forgot about us. and i am here, still, healing to her absence.

i will remember her:

excitement over arts and crafts night. we’d talked about it for hours, breeding nostalgia. i brought over beads, hemp, inks, watercolours, acrylics, papers, sculpture bases, glass paint, sealers—everything i could think of. on her dining table we laid it all out, decided to spray paint glass in greens and reds and violets. the red didn’t survive the evening. it exploded and a violent spray laid claim to the table, staining my duffel bag; we too exploded into laughter, surprised.

i will remember her:

for our last kiss, though i didn’t know it then. we were driver’s side of her car out back behind the stadium on her birthday after work. my usual spot on her door sill, she in her seat, just tore open the birthday gifts; a Fox tee, sign language books, concert tickets. she said she loved them all, and she kissed me, and we kissed in ways that are seared into my memory. if there had to be a last, it was a good way to go.

i will remember her:

being so patient as she tried to teach me Halo—me, whose gamer experience was limited to Spyro circa some five years ago—because i’d wanted to share in what she loved. i was awful. i couldn’t turn and walk at the same time. that sort of awful. but she was so patient, so patient with me. until the third hour. then, every time i turned around, she was there, and i was dead. ‘you’re always behind me!’ i yelled and giggled. she kissed my cheek and killed me again.

i will remember her:

rolling away from me to the sounds of You, Me, and the Bourgeoisie as my alarm rang clear through her bedroom at seven-thirty am every time. every time i’d groan, hit snooze, and curl into her back, her neck, for just five more minutes. she’d press against me and many mornings we traded silent wishes with our sleepy hands in hopes that the currency would mean i didn’t have to get up and go to work.

i will remember her:

like it would never change. there she’ll be, waiting for me, playing with games on her samsung alias, standing out front of Friday’s in penn. she’ll look like she doesn’t notice me, or maybe she doesn’t, but when i’m beside her she smiles and a small candle is lit under her skin. she’ll put her phone away, i’ll turn off my shuffle, we’ll kiss small and sweet and walk hand in hand toward the subway. 8th or 7th, uptown or downtown, it didn’t matter because we’d be going home together.

i will remember her:

laughing at me from the bathroom because of my double bowl of mac and cheese. a wednesday, we readied for the first of our Halloween parties. over her shoulder, i met the eyes of her reflection in the mirror as they formed exasperated moons: she couldn’t sort out the corset pinafore. laughing back at her, i put down my food and laced her up. between mock-hatred and humour, she pulled on my Mad Hatter hat and said, ‘next time, you wear the Alice costume.’

i will remember her:

in her old bedroom, at her mom’s house, after we’d gotten home from watching Mirrors, where she’d hid her head from the film and held my hand tight. her dog slept on the trundle, me beside her on the bed in the dog’s place. i knew she wanted me to kiss her first, i could feel it, and it was such a now-or-never moment. i looked up in the dark to find her levelling, looking at me, and i kissed her, and it was so intense it brought us upright, sitting in each other’s laps to get closer.