of recent contacts. Time corroded her picture in my
head away, as gradual and devastating as rust on a
swing’s chain. I don’t know how long she keeps her
hair now, or what her newest pair of glasses looks
like.
The side street leading to her house branch-
es off from the road I take to get almost everywhere.
For the most part, I drive past it thinking about ev-
erything but her. Whether or not I’ll have a shitty day
at work (probably yes), whether or not I’ll miss the
bus (hopefully not). Once in a while, I wonder about
her opinion on the latest Star Wars movies, but I nev-
er text her to ask. She probably doesn’t think about
me much either, so what does it matter?
I went to her graduation party today. It was
nice to see her again. We talked about college, and
she told me she was majoring in communications
with a focus in marketing and advertisement. She
doesn’t have any career plans, she said. She wants
to get married and have kids and be a stay-at-home
mom, like her own mother was. Her mom never liked
me for some reason. Not knowing how to respond,
I tried to act supportive even though I think that’s
bullshit. What is this, the 1960s? But I couldn’t say
anything because I’ll probably be an unemployed
art student in five years, and that’s not any better.
Besides, she’s always wanted to have kids of her
own. At least that’s never changed.
82
I told her about how I’m halfway through a
creative nonfiction essay for my English class, and
how I’m writing about all the time we spent on the
swings in her backyard.
She sounds thrilled. “Dude, remember that
time I narrated like two seasons of Clone Wars to
you?”
“You’re not gonna believe this, but I literally
just wrote that part.”
Her laugh hasn’t changed in over a decade.
I wasn’t the first to head out, but I also
wasn’t the last. We parted on friendly terms. As et-
iquette dictates, I said something grown-up and
boring about how we should try to get together over
coffee sometime. I sound like my mom. She said
something evasive about how busy she is with work
but yes, we totally should. I agreed. Totally.
The door closed. I think about finishing my
essay. Man, it sucks that I have to work a nine-hour
shift on Memorial Day tomorrow . . . also, I need to
plan a time to get together with the art crew, so we
can get some sketching done while we cry over Mar-
vel movies . . . that Star Wars spinoff just came out
and apparently it’s good, but I really don’t care . . .
shoot, I should get to work on four-year college ap-
plications.
I drive away. The swing set rots in her back-
yard.