Simply Kayla

It was at a concert when I thought of you.

The man on stage screamed into the mic, as I sipped on my red wine that was served gracefully in a plastic cup. 

I nodded my head to the music as though I understood. But I was thinking of you and our last conversation – or at least the only one I could remember. 

It was a hot summer day, and we walked down a busy street, the freeway above us. I wondered why you weren’t sweating in your camouflage cargo pants and baggy black t-shirt.

I can’t recall the walk having a destination. We were just talking, letting our feet guide us aimlessly through the streets of Chicago.

We were only 17 – what else were we going to do? 

I didn’t have a crush on you. I had a crush on the other boy. You knew that, and I think you also knew he was gay (something I’d find out much later). 

I did like your slicked back mohawk and I liked that the other boys at work were scared of you. But on that sticky summer day, with the cars speeding above us, when I had asked if you’d ever seen a dead body, you got quiet.

You looked at me. You said “Yes”. Then you looked away and said “I don’t want to talk about it.” We continued our walk.

I knew I had said something wrong, but I didn’t know how to fix it. I wanted to comfort you, but now I was scared. I wanted to know more, but knew it was none of my business. 

At 17, at least I had the decency to not pry. But to this day, I feel like I should have done something more and I wish I could have been a better friend. As we walked in an awkward silence, I felt the moment to make it better literally slip away. That is my last memory of you. 

At our age, I don’t know what you could have experienced. But I know it made you more mature than me, and I feel like you recognised it at that moment. Maybe you thought I couldn’t handle it, or maybe you were just as stuck as me, trying to decide what to do until the memory of it faded. 

But the memory of that moment has never left me, because I feel like I hurt you and have never been able to apologize. So, I am sorry. I’m sorry for bringing up pain, and then doing nothing to alleviate it. I wish I could take another aimless walk with you and talk – about nothing and everything.

I wish I could hug you right now. 

At 17, you’d call me lame for wanting to give you a hug. Then I’d whine and say “Noooo, I’m not laaaame.” Then you’d smile that crooked smile you always had to see what I’d do next. 

Now, I’d hug you, you dummy. And I know you wouldn’t stop me. 

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© 2024 Kayla Macias