Windowpanes

I didn’t remember this, but being here reminded me, of a time when we walked hand-in-hand together and no one said anything. We were young and innocent and no one would think to question our motives. Everywhere I went you went too. Together we were inseparable holding hands, skipping, and jumping; doing whatever it was that we damn well pleased.

It was autumn this particular time, your hand was clutched tightly to mine. Running across the street to the park, a strange light shone in your eyes. A light that I am sure was reflected in mine. We were two kids on a grand adventure and no one was going to stop us. That house across the street from the park (do you remember it?); the house with the huge windows that took up most of the front. You stopped suddenly in front of those humongous windows and let my hand go. I was hurt and for an instant I was confused that suddenly autumn had turned to winter and our spring had soured into fall. But in front of those windowpanes you stopped and looked at me, the queer light of excitement suddenly replaced with a new light. You looked so beautiful then, reflected against those windowpanes with the sun shining on you, like a cherub of God. You took my hand again and stepped closer to me, too close, but not close enough. I swear I felt your heart beating through your clothes, that jacket your mom made you put on so you wouldn’t get a chill in the brisk autumn air. Your other hand raised and looking at you in those mirror-like windowpanes I saw you lean into me. I smelled the shampoo in your hair; I knew what was coming, even if I didn’t know. A kiss; and you tasted like hot chocolate and peanut butter, an intoxicating combination. We stayed like that, neither of us knowing what to do, but knowing just enough to make it right. We closed our eyes and let our bodies mingle, becoming one before the windowpanes.

You died that day. A car accident took your life when we left the park. You flew up so high in the air and then falling like an angel back to Earth. Your neck snapped and then your eyes went black, red blood streamed from your body growing in a pool around you like some crimson flower. When they took you away in that body bag, a part of me died as well, a part of me that will never be recaptured. We were two kids, and now I am one alone. Even here in this graveyard I don’t feel as close to you as I do when I am walking past a window in the glorious sun on a crisp autumn day and I catch the reflection of two boys who thought they had forever.