it all began here

at this very moment
with this voice
over the phone
1992. It began with a girl in green and black plaid shorts
a pair of green 10-hole doc martens
and a white jane's addiction t-shirt
at a house
that i barely remember
except the smell
of sour syrup.
sticky things and rotten fruit.
And before I had a chance
he was at my door
time and time again.
At my door with nothing.
and for a
very
long
time
I have not even gone near those things.
When he left...
that day he pulled up to our house on McKinley Ave and said his goodbyes,
I left all of that behind me.
And I don't want to make this about the past,
I keep pouring this out
and
as i'm writing, I'm not even sure I'm remembering the stories how they happened.
I'm sure it happened.
But for every story I tell,
there's another one
that causes me to wince
that sends me reeling backwards
and as i walk backwards
facing
this again. this...thing that i had buried
god, i swear i buried this shit so deep that it would never escape.
and now here it is,
in shadows behind waves.
i buried this shit so deep i can barely remember it.
and i...actually have tears in my eyes right now because i cannot remember.
i actually may have to call camille.
is this what Alzheimers is like?
I can only remember certain portions. I only remember the day I met him.
At Creighton's house.
I remember...
I remember walking into Kramer's mom's house
and it smelled sharply of hair dye and rotten food.
And
i saw that picture of him and Karen on the refrigerator
and i
looked at Jeanette and then i knew.
Right then i knew.
and then
i knew.
that
was the beginning. that...was a defining moment.
and then
my senior year...
he showed up at my house all bloody.
begging for attention.
Again having redefined himself.
Yet i knew
that nothing had changed.