Joey

We grew up together chasing the mythological fern flower on the night of Summer Solstice, fireflies lighting our way. We would climb the ladder into the darkened hay loft, of my father's barn, and listen for the quiet breath of the barn owls' wings as it lighted on the beams above our heads.

In the day, we would bake ourselves on inner tubes in my grandfather's pond, swing on the branches of the tall willows in the front yard, squash ripe purple grapes between our teeth straight from the vine and dream about where we would run away to when we were old enough. We were our first kiss.

As kids, we lived those hot summer days and cool nights like kings and queens, confident we would have golden futures of ease, hand in hand.

We would soon learn the summers of youth fade. Young love is not built to sustain youth and reckless abandon. Your family moved away. You left me behind. Left me to a small-town rural life. Fireflies and barn owls, the smell of fresh cut hay and horses nickering in the field, mere memories against the harsh background of the city life you found yourself in.

The letters we sparingly shared through the school year were a youthful attempt to keep us together. Partnered against the world and our strange families; we reminded each other of the secrets we had shared from birth. The tiny freckle between my fourth and fifth toe. The angel kiss behind your ear. Would anyone but me hear the song your fingers played on my knee while we lay on our backs watching the clouds? I became jealous thinking some other girl would.

The first summer after you moved did not come fast enough. When it did, we were caught off guard. We were a year older now, weary around each other for having not seen one another face to face for over eight months. No longer did we chase after fairy tales or swing from willow branches dancing across the grass. Instead, we walked the sandy dirt driveway, climbed through the brambles and looked out from the edge of the bluff to the farmland below. We tried to act grown up in all the ways young people on the verge of becoming adults do. You seemed changed and I imagine I did too.

It hurt. Knowing we were growing apart and not knowing what we could do to stop it from happening. We shared so many firsts, and to think we would start over with someone new didn't seem real. We believed we were meant to dance at our wedding together.

The last summer we had, was wasted time being afraid to share our fear of growing up separate. We wasted the moments we could have shared our final secrets. To this day, I wonder what you were thinking on that hot August day. If you knew the end had come. If you did, why didn't you tell me? Why didn’t it seem to bother you at all?

The years passed. The summers your family came home, as I called it, stopped, and the letters did too. We grew up. We lived life. We both found love. You danced with me at my wedding, handing me off to my new groom with a smile at the end of our dance. It was the last time I would see you until your father's funeral.

The funeral was held at the church where we each had our baptisms, took first communion together, and studied for our confirmations. I came alone secretly, afraid to tell anyone where I was going. I dipped my fingers into the holy water, saying a silent pray for forgiveness for the deception to my husband. I looked towards the front of the church and I saw you speaking to a group of men.

As I walked down the aisle, people looked at me strangely. I am not sure if they knew me or not, wondered why I had come, perhaps? I took off my coat and waited to see if you would notice me. I tried not to stare at you, but my eyes kept coming back to you. The heady scent of flowers and incense calmed my nerves. It was the part of church; besides the silence, I loved the best. Remembered from when we came on Saturday nights with my grandfather. Do you remember the strawberry pie at the Steer afterwards?

You had changed. Grown into a man I did not recognize. Until, you turned around at the tap on your shoulder, that is. Your younger brother had recognized me, how I do not know, and pointed a finger in my direction.

I wanted to pretend I hadn't been staring, but I think you saw through my ruse. It's when you looked at me, I saw it, the smile reaching to the corner of your eyes. The smile that used to stop my heart, making it hard to breathe. You enveloped me in a hug and kissed my cheek. Took me to introduce me to your sons and your wife. We reminisced for a few moments but the day's events took you away, as the oldest son you had a role to play.

When I left the church, without saying good-bye, I let the tears fall. People would believe they were for your father. In truth, those tears were for the young me who hadn't yet cried, realizing, the last kiss I received from you in the loft of the barn would be the last between us ever. It was for the first love of my life I had, but was too young to appreciate.

Sometimes now, when rocking my daughter to sleep, I remember. I can feel the scratch of the hay bales in the loft against my bare legs and the wet dew on my feet from the grass as we chased the make believe. When my four-year-old son heard the robin chicks chirping from a tree in our yard, I think back to the time the owlets hatched in the loft. My dad threatened grounding and all sorts of terror if we went near them. I smile.

When, my children are older, and they run to me with sticky faces from melted popsicles, cupped hands holding secret treasures, I am sure I will think of you again. I will wonder what your smile would look like on their lips.