Do you think I could go back now, now that everything has changed?
Life before you was like some badly written suicide note, one that got little attention and even less pity. You thought I'd get over you in a flash, hah, fat chance. It was the way you told me not to love you that made me want you more. There was something about the way you whispered to me, 'Don't fall in love with me, doll. I ain't worth your time.' It was your tone. It was the sadness in your eyes that made me crash and burn.
I knew you were just some punk kid with your lip pierced and too many 'gawdamn tattoos', as my grampy used to slur whenever you passed by our place and turned your green eyes to see if I was standing at my window.
Green. Green. Insane green, like grampy's chartreuse, like the stain left in his glass after his third drink. He'd chew up his words and spit 'em out, while looking up at the sky whispering of how much you and your 'gawdamn tattoos' were not wanted around here.
I'd sneak out after he'd fallen asleep on the porch, head tilt against the back of his rocker. Summer nights had long since gone insane. Like a tempest wind, we foolishly thought we could control this storm. But I loved you during those wild summers and loved you more when winter came and froze every gawdamn thing but our hearts.
I'd long for those summer nights where we would run into the woods and stay there for hours. Night was our hideaway, a wedding veil in midnight hues. The trees above were our castle and we were King and Queen of Nothingness.
You told me you would go, flee from this horrible place and go become some hotshot in New York or Miami or any gawdamn place that was not the swamps of New Orleans. But you had been saying that since you were eight years old, and you were almost twenty-two now.
'So leave!' I'd yell. 'Go and leave me then. Pretend that this was nothing but one of your one-night stands.' My tears would burn down my cheeks as I screamed at you to get lost, leave, go, never come back.
But you remained silent every single time. And when the summer rain came and fell upon us, you'd push me back against the tree, where you had carved your name and mine, and kiss me with wild abandon. I never thought anyone could ever touch me like you did, never ever. You were like no-one else, none of them came close to you and your gawdamn tattoos.
My grampy had told me you would leave me, find some other girl whose hair was more golden than mine, who's skin was free of freckles and filled out a dress more properly. I knew I should pay no mind to his words, but they hurt and scared, even when he told me that he was only saying that to spare me any sorrow in the future, for when you were gone.
In my mind, we'd run away together a million times. Just you and I. When you laid me down on the damp grass and slipped your hands under my skirt, I was dreaming of perfect places and perfect lives. I would hold onto you closer, tighter. When your breath hitched and I felt the warmth against my ear, when you cried out my name, I was dreaming of fairy tales.
My grampy would kill me if he knew what you and I did. He would say it was dirty, sinful. He would probably grab his shotgun and hunt you down like a buck, make sure he had shot you where it counted.But a love like yours and mine could never be a sin.Even if it was, then under constellations I'd kneel and beg for understanding, not forgiveness; and if I dare returned back home with grass stains on my knees and bruises upon my neck, I would not regret a single moment of our wild summers.
© Christine Bottas. All rights reserved 2015-2016.