grow up

the thing about it, is, honestly – i never really liked rick. he has a hairy back and lives off of his older brothers. even several years after high school – even though he was two years ahead of me and i’m not sure how he got it to begin with – he carried that picture of me around in his wallet. the one from sophomore year. cheerleading. he could still have it now. even after all of these years. his name rhymes with dick. and he’s easy to make fun of. easy targets make me uneasy. too big for his own body. his clothes never fit him right. he carried me home one night twelve blocks after s pushed me through the thick glass of a patio sliding door and i turned up where he was looking for someone else. having walked too far after a fall and losing too much blood. he never asked any questions. he never told anyone. just put me to bed. had tears in his voice—his eyes--when he turned and said in a voice too loud for the silent house of my childhood, there are people, he choked, there are people who’d love you, if you’d only let them try. so many years ago i’d never thought of it so much until this morning when i found out quite by mistake that his mother just passed away. it makes me wonder who loves him now. i want to call and tell him I get it. i him to know that i think now i just might know.