A Memory

May 8, 2008
By Kyra Scrimgeour, Parker, CO

I passed your house again. You don’t live there anymore. I don’t know the people who do. But I knew you. I cling to your memory… but it’s fading. I’m losing you. Again. But this time, you are going piece by piece. I don’t remember how you went last time. I don’t remember you. Why did I love you?
Was it because you were beautiful? Were you beautiful? Yesterday, I was sure your eyes were brown. But now, I think, maybe they were green. Your hair always made me laugh. You spiked it in this certain way... I can’t describe it anymore. You liked to call yourself Blondie, but were you blonde? I don’t think so. I can say for sure you were taller than me, because I always looked up at you. But tomorrow, I might forget that too.

No. I didn’t love you because you were beautiful. I loved you for other things, I’m sure. You were funny. I always laughed when I was with you. I wish that I could remember what you said. I know you always made that face, the one I have a picture of. But in the picture, you’re blurry. You were always moving. Snowboarding. Skating, I think. But that might have been your brother. You liked to break-dance. I remember that because it was you who taught me how to do the worm. I’m sure you taught me a lot of things. But I’ve forgotten what they were.

There are little things I do remember. Pointless things. In your garage, you had a blue stereo. But blue wasn’t your favorite color. I think it was red… like that pair of pants you had? They might have been your only pants. You wore them all the time, to cover your legs. You had egsima, just like me. You also loved chocolate, just like me. I remember once, you smelled like a Hershey bar. You wouldn’t tell me why. I think that was the same day that I finished Redwall. It was your favorite book, and that was why I read it.
I wanted to make you happy. But I don’t think you were. You missed home. Not my home, because Colorado will always be home to me. You missed your home. Your desert. Your Utah. And that’s why you went back. That’s why you left. I remember, right before you walked out those doors for the last time, you said something to me.
You said, “We never get over things. We get through them. And we never, ever, forget.”
But I have forgotten. I forgot. I forgot why I loved you. I promised I wouldn’t. I guess there are some promises that can’t be kept. But I did keep one. I still love you. I still love you because, even though your picture is blurry, it’s still a picture of you.


A Memory

PS: Do you still remember me?

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