Reunion

Heather Hughes

painting by Heather Hughes

Eight months later,
we were pros at social distancing,
you were struggling to stay upright the last time I saw you
and I’d finally gone and made myself something

but you,
you weren’t in pain right now.
Or, if you were, you didn’t say it.
Or, if you did, I didn’t hear it. 
The six feet between us was impassable, 
and drowned out a lot of what we needed to express to each other.

I said I’d always be here
that the love I showed was different
but rules are rules
I can’t lift you into my atmosphere
not now
never again 

I wrote a note, because it can stay longer than I can.
I said I’m sorry
Like I wished I could for so long.
I’m sorry I didn’t call.
I’m sorry for what I said. 
I’m sorry you felt alone.

I hide my apology in the folds,
write a message to you and your neighbors on an outer border,
weave it through the spokes of the instrument you used to play in our home,
a duplicate that you’ll never play,
And I feel a shift as I take a step back.

The irony in the note is that the only person who can possibly read it is the next visitor, 
and your decision left a lot of us feeling this way, didn’t it?
I don’t know at this point whether the person I should forgive is you,
the people who failed you years before all of this unfolded,
the wife who left,
the friend who enacted the same six foot boundary well before you,
myself,
or,
to keep it simple,
just
you. 

The outer message in my note is still visible as I step into a new reality and away from the nondescript plot that has become your tomb.

“You deserve to be remembered.”

Heather Hughes is a newbie comedian by night (pre-pandemic) working in behavioral psychology by day in Mobile Alabama. She also publishes not-at-all funny narrative free verse in her spare time, which is why you’re reading this. She has a book available at tinyurl.com/edenpaperback.