I remember middle school. Mindless days. I remember Halifax Ave. I remember those days I spent sitting after elementary school on the sidewalk corner of Susan B. Anthony. There was an ice cream truck that was parked there and it sold BB guns. I chased girls and they chased me. All I thought about was romance for such a young child. Always in the shadow of romance, but now it was better to feel the knots of longing than the pang of regret.
I sat there on the corner of that sidewalk with only the red stop sign. My classmates and other elementary students walked home: they were picked up by parents, walked across the asphalt to the other side, or walked up the pavement into the homes. I only remember Jennie sitting next to me one day asking me about Jennifer. I told her that “Jennifer was really cool” or something like that. I don’t remember her response. I rarely ever do. I don’t see her next to me anymore. I just remember sitting. I did not feel alone there, but I do now. I pity that boy on that corner of the sidewalk, but he doesn’t need it. He was fine with where he was sitting.
It is hard not to image a frown on his face sitting there, but it was blank.
I don’t know about then, but now I know that something may have happened when my parents divorced. I never think about it because it was so long ago. Freud would have me say that it is because I am suppressing it. But I am too young to remember. I don’t know what the divorce did to me. Maybe I was always this way. I was always comfortable in melancholy.
My willpower is overpowering my sadness. It is a battle like a civil war. Brothers and sisters die inside of me.