by Charles Holdefer
Oh my, that snaggle-tooth smile looks so happy!
I remember, four years ago, making cunning plans to see you. School was out! I thought about it for days and then rode five miles on asphalt, climbed off my bicycle and approached your front porch, my stomach flittering. When you answered my knock, I began with a lie.
“I came to see Denny.”
(In truth I knew that your brother wasn’t home, that he’d left in a royal blue jacket with golden inscriptions proclaiming that he was a Future Farmer of America.)
“He’s at an FFA meeting, he has them on Saturdays now. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
We talked through the screen door in agony and delight. At least that’s how it was for me. That’s how I remember it. Everybody’s got to fall in love sometime, don’t they? Back then I was in love with you. I really was. Hopelessly.
And now—your snaggle-tooth smile looks so happy!
Denny is in jail, and the future farmers are somewhere else.
I don’t think I want to come in. You’ll have to come out. Oh, come out!
“Please?” I say. “I’ll drive you there.”
“No thanks. I’m OK.”
This will be the second time running that you’ve missed your meeting at Meth Moms Anonymous.
