Scott's Grave

Hi, Scott. It’s me. I came to visit since it’s your birthday. You’d be twenty today. Your mom’s at home baking a cake right now. Devil’s food with vanilla frosting, just like every year. I think she even put on your old Sesame Street candles on it. I, um, brought you dandelions. I know they’re not real flowers, but they were from the park next to the duck pond. They’re the same ones we gave our moms as kids. The same as the ones you used to leave me in my locker and everything. So, I know I’ve never asked you this, but I hope you’re happy, or comfortable, or…you know, not alone. Sometimes I wonder what you’d be like now, if you’d leave your dark hair short or if you’d let it grow into that messy bed-head look that’s in now or if you’d dye it some weird color that looks bad on brunettes. Would your gray eyes still turn blue when the sun was shining just right? Would you still wear your favorite blue jacket with the mustard stains on it? You loved that jacket so much. I remember the day you got it. Your birthday when you turned sixteen. Your brother got it for you. He said it was a driving jacket. It brought you good luck when you played baseball. If you wore it on the bench you’d pitch a no-hitter. [deep sigh] So you’re probably wondering about me. Ok, maybe not, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I cut my hair. Remember how long it was? Like Winnie Cooper’s from The Wonder Years. Yeah, well, it got tied into too many knots one day and I just decided to chop it off. It’s at my shoulders now. Oh, and I’m at school now. The gang all graduated and now we’re all spread out all over the country. I go to Rutgers, like we planned on, you know, back in the day. It’s lonely there without you. I didn’t think I’d be going by myself, Scott. Why did you have to go and be stupid, huh? You knew better than that. I told you so many times to be careful and now you just had to go and leave me here by myself. We were blood brothers! We were going to own a restaurant together! We would co-manage it and be the co-head cooks and charge an obscene amount of money for lattes and frappes. And we promised that we wouldn’t do anything stupid. You broke your promise! We were in third grade when we promised. We were in Mrs. Carpenter’s elementary school version of Romeo and Juliet. Isn’t that how we met, Romeo? I think you should know that I don’t like Romeo and Juliet anymore. I guess after…everything it seemed a little too close to home, you know? Besides, it’s like believing in Cinderella or Snow White and waiting for a prince. There’s no such thing as true love. “Romeo, Romeo, where fort art…a sense of reality?” I mean, real guys don’t talk like Romeo. Real guys don’t even understand that. Poetry, to the average college guy, is that stuff that comes on the inside of Hallmark cards. You were never the average guy, so you know. You were better than them. You could make anything sound like poetry if you said it the right way…your voice was low, a deep tenor, full of life. You knew just how to say the right words so that people stopped and listened. Well, you showed all of them, didn’t you? Now you have no choice but to listen to all of them. You hear me? Because you never seemed to when you were alive, Scott! Just don’t drive too fast. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you! Don’t drive too fucking fast! Do you see where all that talking got you? Yeah, well, now you know why I never listened to you either. It’s hard to take criticism, isn’t it? It’s hard to be the one listening…it’s a whole lot easier to just spit out line after line of advice, right?