It is true that the years do quickly pass. The year was 1980 when the loud ringing of the telephone woke me from a sound sleep, it was your brother calling.
Into this new year of 2017, I have carried you and our shared experiences. I play the memories over in my mind; the splash of the river water, the rumble of your motorcycle, the feel of your broad chest, and the squeeze of your hand around mine. I feel these memories as if they are at present, though, I am aware of how long it has been since the last time I saw your face, the last words we spoke, and I remember that night as I turned away from you to walk home, I felt you watching. When I turned back around, I saw you sitting on your motorcycle smiling at me and you said, “See Ya”.
You were a great boyfriend even if when we met you were twenty-four and I was seventeen. After my mother threw me out of the house you took me in and each morning you made sure I arrived at school on time. How I wish that had never ended, but my mom was furious when I did not return home, at least it took her two weeks to find out I was living with you. Though she threatened to call the police, I would have stayed with you if you had not told me to go back home.
Fortunately, I have an abundance of pictures of you, of us together. Years ago, I scanned them to my computer, to me they have become priceless. I do look at them every so often even though I know my thoughts will return to that early morning, the morning your brother called.
The phone rang, I rolled over in my bed, picked up the receiver, and brought it to my ear. I heard someone sobbing, “Who is this, what’s the matter?” Your brother took a few seconds before he was able to say who he was, “sob…it’s… sob…it’s Keith, Mark’s brother.” He did not speak further and I thought there must be something wrong. “What is it, what is it?” I asked. “Mark’s dead, he’s dead,” without hesitation, I yelled into the phone, “that’s impossible I just saw him last night. What a sick joke, you asshole.” I slammed the receiver down. Laying on my back, I stared at the blank ceiling wondering what if it was not a joke. My heart pounded against my chest in a quiet panic. Seconds later, the phone rang again, in the early morning on the day of your death your brother called. I let the phone ring, but it was apparent your brother wasn’t going to end his call. I picked up the receiver and silently took in the details of your apparent suicide.
You should have left me a note, wrote how much you loved me, that it was not my fault. In the memories I keep is the greatness of you. In memories, in dreams, and in my mind you are eternal. I still remember you sitting on your motorcycle that last night and I repeat to myself, “See Ya”. R.I.P. My Love.