Forget-you-not

My first kiss was in elementary school. Someone had tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around, this boy missed my lips and planted a quick peck on my cheek. I was so embarrassed -- but also a little impressed that this boy was expressing his feelings nicely to me instead of torturing me with hits on the arm or chasing on the playground. We were close until the end of junior high.  He became more curious about the ways of the world and I became more curious about the ways of boys. We reconnected a bit near the end of high school when I became involved with his friend. One day, he shared a poem that he had written for me. I can't remember what it said but I remember it was beautiful. No one had ever written me a poem before. I agonized over hurting him but shamefully, in the end I chose his selfish and idiotic friend. But selfish and idiotic person that I was, I guess I got what I deserved.

After that, it was never the same between Scott and I. My spurn had assured his retreat from me. But time heals old wounds. Years later, when we would run into each other, I knew he was genuinely glad to see me and it was mutual. I knew of Scott's troubles so in addition to the joy of seeing an old friend, I was glad that he was doing well. And then I got the news . . .

Scott had died. 

Today is Scott's birthday. For quite some time after he was gone, he would pop up in my dreams -- not necessarily as the object but just as a bystander or as someone in a crowd walking down the hall. I think about him often and miss having him here in this world.