I remember before it all began. Back when thoughts such as these were chased away with laughter unparalleled. When thoughts of sand and sun brought memories of sunburns on distant beaches, chasing seagulls back into the lapis horizon. When tanks and Apache helicopters reincarnated GI Joe plastic uniforms and Hot Wheels troopers. Guns and grenades. Helmets and hate. All left behind when we exited the movie theater. Our Super Soakers played machine guns and our water balloons exploded with shrapnel.
I remember when Army men weren't huge bloodsoaked heroes. They were smaller than your hand, all green, and melted when the sun was high in the sky. Instead of fighting hardend men, they were overwhelmed by another sand survivor: the ant. If the battle seemed lost, they were merely picked up, brushed off, and returned to their bag for another day. There were no heavy casualties. No POW, MIA, or additions to the national debt. They had no wives, waiting in terror for the Chaplain to call. Just plastic men with plastic guns and plastic lives.
I remember recruiting my Barbies to take on the Transformer empire. When skeletons were nothing more than rubber Halloween decorations bent on conquering another make-believe world. I sided with the Transformers. They seemed so much more powerful and real than the smiling faces of Midge and Kelly. Women and children? Yes. Then I knew so little of how accurate my battles could be. I was so nave then. I wish I could still be.
I remember when he was still mine. Back before he donned the blacks, greens, and browns that would change him forever. When we used to be kicked out of the mall for skateboarding inside and all of our friends worked at movie theaters and Checkers. All we worried about was how the rent was going to be paid or how we were going to get Sam's medication because he inhaled fluid from fire breathing. Car accidents, drugs, makeups, and breakups. It was all so surreal and perfect. He was there, in the midst of it all. We set off fireworks and almost blew everyone off of the dock. We stole away to another city to be alone just for a little while.
I remember the little things, back when he was here. The things I should have payed more attention to before he and I became us. Now when the phone rings, I catch myself short of breath, thinking it could be the greatest day of my life or the end of it all. The reciever picked up could ring of sweet wolfsong or of hell's internal rage. When I hear his words, his lulling voice, shaking and distant from the static of an ocean separation, I feel the tears and joy spring into my responses. He lets me forget, for a while, of the sand under his nails and the ammunition under his arm. For a while, my skin is under his nails and my heartbeat rests under his arms. The sunsweat is replaced by sexsweat. The only blood is from when I dig in just a little too deep and he cries from the pleasure, not of the pain. There is no more longing. No more dark thoughts. Just US and the radiating sensations that accompany every breath. Only when the dial tone screams in my ears do the realities come flooding back, as do the tears. I can still feel him, but it's more distant than before.
I remember the promises he made me. I hold onto those promises, knowing he is a man of his word and I will see him again. For near or far, for soon or for later, he is coming home. He and I will dance again, I in my white, he in his black.
I remember him, as he was and as he is. Under the scars and faded ink, his heart beats true. A solder to the skin and a warrior to the end.
I remember when Army men weren't huge bloodsoaked heroes. They were smaller than your hand, all green, and melted when the sun was high in the sky. Instead of fighting hardend men, they were overwhelmed by another sand survivor: the ant. If the battle seemed lost, they were merely picked up, brushed off, and returned to their bag for another day. There were no heavy casualties. No POW, MIA, or additions to the national debt. They had no wives, waiting in terror for the Chaplain to call. Just plastic men with plastic guns and plastic lives.
I remember recruiting my Barbies to take on the Transformer empire. When skeletons were nothing more than rubber Halloween decorations bent on conquering another make-believe world. I sided with the Transformers. They seemed so much more powerful and real than the smiling faces of Midge and Kelly. Women and children? Yes. Then I knew so little of how accurate my battles could be. I was so nave then. I wish I could still be.
I remember when he was still mine. Back before he donned the blacks, greens, and browns that would change him forever. When we used to be kicked out of the mall for skateboarding inside and all of our friends worked at movie theaters and Checkers. All we worried about was how the rent was going to be paid or how we were going to get Sam's medication because he inhaled fluid from fire breathing. Car accidents, drugs, makeups, and breakups. It was all so surreal and perfect. He was there, in the midst of it all. We set off fireworks and almost blew everyone off of the dock. We stole away to another city to be alone just for a little while.
I remember the little things, back when he was here. The things I should have payed more attention to before he and I became us. Now when the phone rings, I catch myself short of breath, thinking it could be the greatest day of my life or the end of it all. The reciever picked up could ring of sweet wolfsong or of hell's internal rage. When I hear his words, his lulling voice, shaking and distant from the static of an ocean separation, I feel the tears and joy spring into my responses. He lets me forget, for a while, of the sand under his nails and the ammunition under his arm. For a while, my skin is under his nails and my heartbeat rests under his arms. The sunsweat is replaced by sexsweat. The only blood is from when I dig in just a little too deep and he cries from the pleasure, not of the pain. There is no more longing. No more dark thoughts. Just US and the radiating sensations that accompany every breath. Only when the dial tone screams in my ears do the realities come flooding back, as do the tears. I can still feel him, but it's more distant than before.
I remember the promises he made me. I hold onto those promises, knowing he is a man of his word and I will see him again. For near or far, for soon or for later, he is coming home. He and I will dance again, I in my white, he in his black.
I remember him, as he was and as he is. Under the scars and faded ink, his heart beats true. A solder to the skin and a warrior to the end.
VIEW 18 of 18 COMMENTS
furikuri69:
Happy Birthday 
vdubkidd:
