Enjoy. :)
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“Acadia” Marianas Trench
Visiting home was always something.
The kids love visiting their grandma and grandpa and I enjoy seeing mom and dad and well, the smiles on my kids faces.
I know Bailey likes seeing my parents too. He likes getting to know them more.
And as much as I loved catching up with my beloved family despite all the bittersweet memories the place held, I always took time from my visit to go up to the treehouse and remember.
Remember my life as it was.
I sat in the middle, just breathing in and out while letting the memories flood over me and drown me. I was lost and mesmerized by my jeans while thinking about Andrew and Angie.
The triple A’s. That’s what everyone called us all through school. Andrew, Angie and Amy; best friends forever.
I looked up and around, I could see Andrew in a corner, smoking his first cigarette and choking, releasing the smoke too early and in random puffs. Meanwhile, Angie and I had tears streaming down our faces from laughing so damn hard, and we wiped them away with our plain t-shirts that we wore over our A-cup bras.
I looked over to a ripped lime green bean bag, the small beads surrounded it on the floor. I could see Andrew handing Angie a tampon and then Angie sticking it up her bloody nose. The memory bought a faint laugh out of me and a ghost of a smile.
I remember when Angie had lost her virginity up in the treehouse at fourteen, while me and Andrew sat out in the grass and made dandelion crowns (both for me, Andrew was too ‘manly’ or so he claimed), and giggling hysterically at the noises (Andrew might have argued that he wasn’t giggling, but laughing outright, guys didn’t giggle he would have said).
That memory bought a smile to my face. I didn’t support Angie’s decision on losing her virginity so soon, but I was her friend, not her mother. At that age, I was planning on saving it till marriage. Who would have thought that three years later I would be up there with Andrew doing the same thing?
I bet we would still be best friends if they were here.
The thought alone, sent tears to my eyes and made my stomach churn. My heart ached.
I remembered as if it was yesterday. It felt like yesterday. So many sweet moments shaded by the saddest days of my life.
At eighteen, Andrew and I started planning our wedding.
At nineteen, me at the altar, waiting for that stupid smile on my face. Me, the bride, reassuring everyone that he, the groom, would show up. That he was coming.
At nineteen, Andrew’s body lifeless and limp. Dead because of a drunk driving car accident.
At twenty, Angie raped. That same year she said goodbye and joined Andrew. By choice.
At twenty, me, completely alone.
At twenty-nine, me married. With Bailey.
Tears I hadn’t realized had fallen had dampened my jeans. I blinked a few times, as if coming out of a trance.
I looked up to see Bailey, standing against the door frame my father had grudgingly constructed for three annoying five year olds.
He walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead. “I love you.” he murmured.
And unconsciously my thoughts drifted to when I was with Andrew, after Prom, dancing up here, after having been too embarrassed to do so at Prom. Him, twirling and spinning me as I titled back my head and laughed and then him suddenly stopping, brushing his lips against mine with a feather light touch, as he whispered the words to me, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I said out loud. I love you too, Andrew.
