I lay on the sand watching not the surf, not the sunset, but him, out
there on the waves, atop them, ruling over them like a Norse god. It
was so many years ago now, but so vivid in my memory. I had known him
since we were both kids, about ten years old or so, and now he was so
beautiful.
We spent the night on the beach, like a dream, like that song that
goes, "...Jamaica in the moonlight," or something like that. A few
years later, he found cocaine, a woman, and then defected. We
corresponded many years after that, after it was okay to call there,
even though we both knew the line was tapped. He sent a picture of
himself with his wife, and I thought it odd that he chose a picture
where he wasn't wearing a shirt, with his wife embracing him. I loved
seeing him again, even if only through a picture that hurt when I
looked at it.
I was there when his father was cruel to him. I was there when his
dog died, and he cried and cried. I was there for his first day of
high school, and he was so nervous. I was there that day on the road
behind my house when he declared how he felt about me, and then hours
later when he made eyes at the neighbor girl and I tried to ignore it.
And now, years later, I'm old. He's old. We're old, but we're apart.
He is always in my heart, but half a world away, and yet farther. So
far away.
I should feel sad, but I don't. I feel proud. I loved him, I say to
myself. I loved him when he ruled the seas.
