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| Forever an Echo in our hearts. |
I quickly went to the gate and hoped he would see me. Even if he just saw me, without even having to talk, it’d be more fun than I’d had anytime recently. I leaned against the brick gate pillar and let some leg show under my dress. I hope he sees me.
I could hear his footsteps approaching now. He was sure-footed, walking with confidence. He must have somewhere important to go, a show perhaps, or band practice with his friends. He can’t be late for that. I’m sure they depend on him. He looks so cool. He reminds me of Eugene, he was in a band and played guitar too. He played so well, everyone would dance all night. I thought he might even be famous one day. Eugene had long hair too, and kept it slicked back. He always tried to look tough, but I knew deep down he was just a big sweetie. Whenever he’d get in a fight, he’d say to me afterward, “didn’t mean to scare ya.”
The boy was getting closer, almost to where I was standing, and he stopped, set down the guitar, and crouched on one knee to tie his shoe. Eugene wore those kinds of shoes too, black basketball shoes. His laces were always coming undone too. As the boy looked down at his shoes, I could see his hair flow down around his shoulders, like root beer pouring out of an overflowing glass. Eugene’s hair was not that long; this boy’s hair was as long as a girl’s, but I liked it anyway. I bet his parents weren’t happy with that, they probably gave him a rough time about it.
Eugene’s parents gave him a rough time all the time. He’d complain about them to me, told me they always yelled about his hair, staying out late, his friends who looked like trouble, all that. Sometimes, he’d get real sad, and he wasn’t truly a bad boy or hoodlum, but then he’d start drinking, especially if his friends were around, and tell me “If my folks think I’m bad, I might as well be bad.” That’s when he would truly be bad, break out windows, get in fights, that kind of thing.
And drive fast. Boy o boy, when he’d been drinking, he loved to drive fast. He’d get a wild look in his eye and tear down the road, taking curves on two wheels nearly. I’d be so afraid I’d shiver, and he’d turn to me and say “didn’t mean to scare ya there, Echo darlin',” and slow down and take it easy. He never meant to hurt me, honest, he was a real sweetie deep down.
The boy finished tying his shoe and straightened up, picked up his guitar, and started to walk again. But then he stopped. Right about when he was about to pass me, he stopped! I got so excited, maybe he sees me there, waiting for him. Oh I hope he likes my dress, Mother was so careful picking it out for me.
The boy looked straight past the gateway, as if he didn’t even see me. He grunted, and with a free hand, zipped up the zipper of this leather jacket. Once it was zipped, he kind of hunched down inside his jacket and brought his hand up and blew into it, just as he would as if it were cold, but it wasn’t. It was a beautiful October afternoon, at least sixty out, maybe sixty five.
I thought of calling out to the boy, but I thought it’d be best to let him get where he was going. I know how important it is to be on time. It made me kind of sad though.
I watched the boy go all the way down the street until he turned the corner and disappeared. Once he’d gotten past the cemetery, he wouldn’t hear me if I called anyway. Maybe he’ll pass by again. Pass by. It reminds me of one of the poems I learned since I’ve been here:
Remember me as you pass by,
As you are now so once was I,
As I am now, soon you shall be,
Prepare for Death and follow me.
--Echo Chambers
