I want nothing more on this forsaken planet than for you to come over one last time before the sweeping sands of time swallow us up for good and spit us out on opposite ends of the world. Turn left at the town intersection instead of going straight, just before you get to the pastry shop where Aunt Sue would give us a box of chocolate creme sticks for one dollar because her and my mom went way back. She isn’t even my aunt, nor is she your aunt; as far as I know, she’s no one’s biological aunt. A barnyard cat in the form of a human distributing baked goods at a quaint little shop on the square. She was born in a trailer; when she dies, the entire town will weep, and perhaps finally avoid a cavity diagnosis at the next routine dental cleaning. You used to love stopping in and seeing Aunt Sue on Saturday Mornings.
Turn left and then turn left again until you are heading towards my place like a barreling doomsday asteroid from the depths of outer space. Your 2007 Turquoise Toyota Corolla, a hand-me-down from your dad who hated my guts until I played a single round of golf with him. I should have known all along. There is no hiding one’s true nature on the course. You’ll be heading north on route 95, which will lead you to the housing development where my mom lives, just a 15 minute drive from downtown. I’m staying here for one last weekend before I move away. One last weekend. Keep driving past the old AMC theater, a dusty creepy old place with fuzzy felt on the walls and an interior aura that makes you feel like you might get violated but enjoy it at the same time. Remember when we used to catch matinees to see the latest shitty Rom-Com? One large popcorn, a box of junior mints, and two cokes please. The guy who usually worked the concession looked like he did an enema of methamphetamines and liquified Nerds Candy before every shift. What was his name again? Darren. Every teenage boy named Darren from a Midwest small town will have a minimum of 3 drug charges by the age of 18. The judge will give him a slap on the wrist though since dad owns a few Subways in town and gives the judge free lunches every now and then. People remember favors, and bribery can often take the form of a half-off Meatball Marinara.
Keep going straight past Aaron’s house on Birch Street. So many important milestones occurred at Aaron’s house. I first fingerbanged you under the Cheetah-print blanket while we were watching Nightmare on Elm Street in his basement on the black leather reclinable couch. There were 10 other people in the room, and everyone knew I was two knuckles deep in you while Freddy slashed another unsuspecting youth, but that was all the fun. Later that night we’d play hide and seek and I would “find” you in the storage closet all by yourself. I’d fuck you bent over the rubbermaid container holding Aaron’s parents’ Christmas decorations. Luckily we still had another 6 weeks until Thanksgiving.
After you pass Aaron’s house you’ll only have a few more minutes until you reach my mom’s house. In those few minutes you will grow teary eyed and dismissive of anything I might say. As you trundle down the gravel driveway and lay your headlights upon the brick ranch were we had a countless amount of secret sleepovers, you will pretend to know what I have to say. You’ll pull up park your Corolla off to the side in the extra parking spot and text me “here”. I’ll come out in my pajamas and walk outside to see you still sitting in the running car with the driver side window rolled down. I will convince you to come inside despite your hesitation and my trepidation over digging the dagger too deep in the wound of heartbreak. You will ask me over and over again if it has to be this way. I will reiterate over and over it has to be this way, despite my growing guilt over not giving us an honest effort. In less than 24 hours I’m moving across the country to start a new life eating shit at a job I will hate in 2 years and put on 15 pounds. You will see me time to time whenever I return home for the holidays. Perhaps we will exchange glances across the bar at Spanky’s the night before Thanksgiving. You’ll be a year older and I will notice the womanly maturation in your face. I’ll be carrying an extra 20 pounds. Too much work to workout. You’ll ask how my dating life is. I will lie and say it is wonderful and show you a random screenshot of a girl from Bumble who sent three messages to me and then ghosted before I had a chance to ask her on a proper date. You will take a few months after my departure to move on, filling the void with shallow hookups with steroid monsters from the rec center. By the time we cross paths again a year from now, you will have re-kindled an old flame and it will have been 6 months official. He won’t be there at Spanky’s though, as you’ll just be with your high school friends. You still have two more years before graduating, but once you find a decent accounting job with your degree, you will be set for life. It will take me a few years to finally stop hating myself and open my guarded gates of shattered confidence to the world again. Eventually I will find someone worth loving again. A decade down the road we will both be happy. You will be married with two young kids, a boy and a girl one year apart, both with dirty blonde hair, the same color of the strands that danced around your face in the swirling winds of autumn. I will be engaged and hoping to have a few offspring of my own. We both can see the future but fail to acknowledge it in the present. We were perfect for each other, in love with the concept of making it work, and because of our overconfidence, tonight will be our last night in love.
But for now, we will go downstairs to the storage shelves, and I will bend you over the rubbermaid container holding my mom’s Christmas decorations one last time.
After all, it is only July.
-Tony
Do you remember all the nights spent in your room?
'Cause I remember falling asleep with you watching It's Always Sunny
Yeah, I remember all the nights spent in motel rooms
Trying hard to grasp with you telling me this isn't working
Empty bottles of wine all over my floor
Did you mean what you said to me last night?
Incognito to mostly all of this shit
Disguised to you as a dead concept
In regards to my faith I've been shouting at God through the trees in the woods where you took me to
Where I got lost with you
Held up inside your room at night
Finding home right beneath your sheets
I loved you and held you tight
Just feels impossible to let you go
Long drives down I-95
200 miles of your favorite songs
Train rides up to Boston but the ride back is always so long
And I fell asleep in the backyard all alone
I can't help but fall in love with you
-lyrics from the song The Gang Gets Emo by American Beauty