By Christopher Dehon
Days after he stopped calling my name from outside the bathroom, and days before he’d started locking his door, playing the music loud so he couldn’t hear me, but before the money started going missing, I was singing with him in the car. He traced my hand with his finger, and looked closely at it like he was trying to memorize it.
Now I’m at a memorial full of people who didn’t know him. Kids who lied to me when I tried to find him. I pictured telling the car story. I couldn’t. No one here was old enough to understand.
Though this is about kids, it holds exceptional perception and awareness on their parts. A tale VERY WELL told.
Very powerful and heartbreaking.
Wow, this one hits hard. The tracing of the hand is beautiful.
Very profound and well written.
Fab.