A January Dear John letter
and an empty house
and missing furniture
pushed me over the edge.
I told her I’d be home at night,
but not a second after midnight
and that was the last straw.
Hannah returned to her
mother’s home in Carolina.
Quincy to Carolina
was a long stretch.
I smoked a cigarette
and didn’t even smoke.
I drove down the I-5
with the windows down,
playing System of a Down.
All of them down
all the way down.
I was down on my luck
and ready to hit a lick.
If I popped my trunk,
I’d find my strap with a clip.
But that’s not me.
And it never was.
And for the life of me,
it never will be.
But I tripped on the ground
when her departure touched down.
What went wrong?
I had an intervention.
The circled chairs lacked empathy,
and fingers pointed at me.
I didn’t admit my wrongs right.
I wronged a right with a fight
as accusations down poured all downhill
to damage our home with waist-high lies.
Lies that I’d tried to hide.
It took me time, like years, to accept
the blame for doing my own thing when
I should have snuggled with her on that tan couch,
watching music videos and Sunday sermons.
God knows I need God in my life.
I remained single to catch my breath.
Falling through the cracks of Hannah’s love
weakened the person I portrayed myself to be.
My self-confidence focused its attention on taking care of my body.
When what mattered to Hannah was a gift to receive,
I wish I could be a genie
and transport before her.
What’d I say? I scratched the back of my neck, already knowing the answer and happy that I knew. Instead of a worthless apology, I’d start pointing out what I loved about her.
She’d take late-night bubble baths with evergreen candles flickering and glasses of red wine on the edge of the large tube.
Hannah would ask me to join her.
I look, but say the game wasn’t over.
Not knowing I was losing her.
I’d spill my guts about my low self-esteem
and how it’s changed.
I’d cup her cheeks,
eye for her and
soul and I drop to one knee
and ask her to marry me.
“Well, here I am,” Hannah said.
She looped one arm around her waist
and the other arm she extended.
“When did you get—”
“Shhh.” Hannah placed a finger to her lips
and returned it to receive a ring.
Before Mom died, she told me Hannah
would return and that when she did,
I’d better give her the damn ring
or go down as a failure.