I still remember how you looked that afternoon. The afternoon before we said goodbye. It was so warm that day, even in the shade by the river. The sun seemed to make you glow, and sent pinpricks of light sparkling into my already dazzled eyes. You were so perfect then that I felt unworthy to look at you. I still do, even though you are but a broken shell of who you used to be.
For some reason, so unimportant that I have forgotten it, we were let out of school early, at lunch time. You wanted so badly to go to the park, to the river and the railroad tracks where that train has been parked forever. I didn't know then why it was so important to you, but I think I do now. You wanted to visit the places where we had built so many memories. You wanted to remember the long, lazy summer days by the cool river where we would lie on the sweet smelling grass, talking about nothing, and almost everything.
On that day you grabbed me by the hand and pulled me at a run, our feet pounding on scorching asphalt, down to the park. We were both sweaty and panting when we got there, but we didn't mind. We only wanted to spend time together, and not waste any of the precious freedom we had been granted.
I will never forget how beautiful you looked as you set your belongings on a park bench, and proceeded to take off your tie, and undo your shirt, a white one we had to wear under the black blazers. You rolled up the sleeves too, showing off the tattoo on the inside of your wrist. I kept your tie, never telling you where it went when you couldn't find it, but I think you knew. I still have it, after all these years, and if you could open your eyes right now, you would see that I am wearing it.
We went to the open field and lay on the warm grass, recovering from our run. I remember turning to face you - you were on your back - and tracing my hands, rough from years of playing guitar, over the sensitive skin on your lower abdomen. I pretended not to hear the whimpers of pleasure you made, nor see your evident arousal. But Adam, you should have asked me for it; I would have been brave.
We told each other everything, but there is something I never told you. I loved you, and I still do. I think you felt the same, but we didn't want it to affect our friendship.
You were never one to stay still for long, no matter what, so, resisting the pleasure, you got up again, and pulled me down to the river. You stripped off your trousers and shirt, and, standing there in your boxers, insisted I do the same. I almost refused, but I could never say no to you.
I remember how wet we got, and how, somehow, when we got out of the water, you ended up lying on top of me. With most of our bodies skin to skin, I couldn't control my feelings, especially when, almost unconsciously, you began softly grinding against me. It was the first sexual thing in our tactile relationship. I couldn't stop the moan of pleasure, and it didn't help that I could feel your arousal against my own. You should have asked me for it then, since you didn't earlier. How could I have said no?
You must have known how badly I wanted you then, but I doubt I would have said it outright, even if you hadn't lost your nerve and jumped up, dragging me over to the train. Somehow you had two cans of white spray paint, and we wrote our names on every car of the train. I never told you that I saw the way you wrote our names together, just like this: Adam + Kris, surrounded by a heart, but I knew then that the feelings I had for you were mutual. Every day after you left I went down to the train and just stared at what you had written, tears of regret, loss, and sorrow running down my face.
After the trains we went back to the field, and you fell asleep in the sun. I took your picture then, but that's another thing I never told you. I have the picture still, and if you hadn't left I would have showed it to you. Maybe that is why I remember that day so well, because the picture reminds me of what we had, and what we couldn't have. It reminds me of everything that was lost on that day. Everything I still remember so clearly as though it was just yesterday. Then, I would have gone with you anywhere; now, I can just look at you, lying here so broken, and remember.
You woke up just as the shadows were growing long, and we went back down to the river to retrieve our clothes. It was then that you told me you were leaving. You family was moving, and even though we tried to deny it, we both knew you wouldn't come back. We cried, and clung desperately to each other, as though doing so would stop you leaving. We made promises to phone each other every night, and for a year and a half we did. But phone calls can never replace face to face conversation, and soon it was just birthdays and Christmas, then birthdays, then...nothing. I haven't heard from you since that last phone call, and you haven't heard from me. I wonder if we ever will again. Seeing you how you are now, hooked up to so many machines and barely breathing, I find it hard to believe.
I should have kissed you by the water, but I didn't have the courage or the heart. I couldn't bare to tell you how much I loved you, knowing it would only make it harder. I wish now I had, because now I don't know if I will be able to.
I begged you to stay just a bit longer in the park with me, but you couldn't. You had to go home you said, and as you walked away I imagined I could hear your heartbeat across the grass, across the space that never should have separated us, and it was echoing mine; a lonely, broken beat that would never mend. Mine never has. I still remember the pain I felt, seeing you walk away, know it was the last time I would see you.
That day of our lives, that hot summer day we got out of school early, where we spent our last time together in the park, by the river, and the railroad track where the train no longer is, that day has suck in my memory. I think I will be with me until I die, and I will always regret what we never said, what we never asked. And Adam, even if you forget it, I still remember.