Kyle
He played varsity football in the fall,
Lacrosse by spring.
One little brother a few grades below,
His father taught me fractions in fourth grade.
His cousin and I overlapped in the Venn diagram of social circles,
His uncle taught me humility in high school.
Small towns make you know people.
We are compressed into one school, one playground, one playing field.
You realize years later that being around someone doesn’t mean you know anything.
Hearing and repeating doesn’t put you in their shoes.
You don’t know their mind, you don’t know their thoughts.
The Rest In Peace messages online were grotesque,
Immensely difficult to process.
The tension between the love they offered and the validity they lacked
Brought confusion and confusion’s tears.
It wasn’t right to find out this way…
Yet who am I to expect a phone call.
Suddenly the message he had written to me
Just two short months before
Sparked a tender affliction of guilt.
Why hadn’t I responded, what would have been the harm.
A few kind words might have been the difference,
A few dates could have been the cure…
Yet how very arrogant.
