• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 10
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Do You Remember . . .?

Do you remember that long–haired, sickly sweet, sweat-filled summer of my rebellious and delicate early adolescence - the one when I ran away from home for the day and took the train into the city, only to return as dinner was being served to find that you’d thrown yourself and your rapidly growing mountain of anxieties into unnecessary housework, even borrowing the mower from the neighbor down the street and mowing the already trim lawn to nubbins?

Do you remember, in your now quiet, unsnoring sleep, with lesions decorating your brain so gaudily according to the MRI, the fragile peace that ensued, that you proceeded to cultivate so very gently with each passing day?

Do you remember how strongly, how brightly, how brilliantly, how loudly we both loved and hated each other then, but most importantly, now, in your terminal slumber, as I hold your hand in the silent darkness, punctuated only by the occasional beep of the heart monitor, your rhythm failing so slowly - much more slowly than anticipated - unlike our rapid reconciliations and tender, tenuous friendship during those, my fractious teenage years, when we both foolishly spat, anxious and worried - almost as anxious and worried as I am now wondering what I’ll do without you - do you remember how much I still calmly, peacefully, and steadily now love you?