Crafting Voice

Dear Lacey,

I saw you again today. I saw you in every five foot nothing blonde walking away from me down the sidewalk as I passed them by and looked over my shoulder just to make sure it wasn’t. I still check every white Ford F-150 with the grated grill to see if it might be you driving which I know is stupid because you’re in California where your husband that you don’t even like dragged you off to. I saw the other day that you delivered a second child seemingly 9 months exactly after your first and that this time it’s a girl. I wondered if they were keeping you happy and remembered how you would light up when you talked about having your own family. I remembered the first time I saw you and how our eyes met with a look of unreasonable understanding that would lead us to some arcane place beyond any familiarity where we would be robbed of our innocence and stripped of our assurance. I remembered finding out that you were engaged earlier in the same week that you came to me with watery eyes and no control of the previous three months since you said you would let me know when you wanted to see me again. I remembered how angry I was when you wouldn’t decide for yourself and how desperately we reached for one another as we both looked away. I paced along those years leading up to the spiral of invitations, expensive photos, and white chrysanthemums, pawing at the ground for missing pieces or forgotten promises only to, once again, have no one but myself to blame for what didn’t happen, and what did.