Since then.

He had managed to put it off for a couple years now. He figured eventually he would hire someone to do it for him. Now, standing in that dingy basement of boxes, full of musty memories that no one cared to remember, he knew that eventually had come and gone. Maybe if I’d done things differently, he thought for a moment before shaking the thought from his head and focusing on the boxes.

The contents of each was hand scrawled on the outside in magic marker. He saw they included things like X-MAS Stuff, X-MAS Ornaments, or XMAS etc. Then he saw one with his name followed by the word NOTEBOOKS and took it down and placed it on the floor in front of him. He held a hand to his lower back and winced before grabbing hold of the shelf and lowering himself slowly to his knees. A cloud of dust formed when he removed the cover and he felt it adhering to the thin layer of perspiration that had formed around his body. He breathed heavily.

He remembered hearing somewhere that Hemingway was contacted by a Parisian hotel some thirty years after his stay and informed that they had found a trunk of his in their basement. It was full of the old Master’s notes and writings from the Paris days, back before Pound was insane, and his pal still believed the green light was attainable. After reuniting with these forgotten pages of his youth, Hemingway wrote A Moveable Feast. 

Maybe, the man began a thought before shaking it away with a chuckle. 

He reached a hand into the box and emerged with a red covered notebook. He frowned. After replacing it back in the box he returned with a different, green covered one. He looked around and found a stool at the workbench nearby. He sat down, opened to the first page and began to read. 

May 17th

Last night I read the journal I kept senior year. Just a year since then but hardly recognize the person that wrote those words about high school drama and high hopes. Familiar names of people no longer known … The sadness of leaving and the thrill of leaving all in one. Seems so faraway, so silly since I’ve fallen in and out of love since then. Since I’ve had pillow whispers on Winter mornings and seen the stillness of another being in sleep since then. Everything is different since then. Even my emotions. Felt my heart break apart since then. The emotions of last year mean nothing to me now, nothing but distant memories; memories of a child that mean little to me now, now when I’m an adult, light years away from since then and living in the Now. 

In part of the journal I wondered what it would have been like to be popular. That had me thinking back, remembering, reminiscing: beginning of 8th grade: that kid that moved from Texas? Wore a lot of grease in his dark hair. Tough but kind. Stronger than Liam and Liam was strongest kid in our class. Of his strength people were jealous, for his strength he was hated, but not by me. We were becoming the best of friends. We had Mrs. B’s art class together. It’s been such a long time since I’ve thought about dude …

Frank was his name, I think, almost positive because I never known another Frank before or since and I feel like I’ve known at least one Frank so it had to be him. Still it’s been so long I forgot his full name, or at least I forgot if I ever knew his full name … can’t seem to remember for sure, it was the beginning of 8th grade, five and a half years ago. So long ago, plus he was only there about a month, staying at his Aunt’s place and then his family sent word that he was to return home. Texas, I think. No, New Mexico seems right … Somewhere out there where it’s warm like Arizona. Who knows? 

With him on our football team that year we were finally going to have a winning season, I was sure of it. Dude was a beast. I’m still a little melancholy about the memory of his leaving, his final day. Can’t remember his name or from where he came but I can remember the feeling of his leaving. I was supposed to meet him after school and see him off, a final walk home, a last goodbye, a final conversation, last words. That walk home was our routine we had quickly fallen into since he arrived. That’s why we got along so well — great conversations trying to discover the world and come to an understanding of the forces that surrounded us, such as we could fathom, anyway.

We were supposed to meet up in the back of school by the bike racks. He didn’t have a bike so I would always walk mine until we reached his Aunt’s house which was slightly out of my way, though I didn’t care, it was in the general direction and worth the extra time. So I was waiting there at the bike racks and remembered thinking someone had a bike like Liam’s chained there when out of nowhere Liam came up, unchained his Diamondback and was like, C’mon lets go! This threw me for a loop. At the start of the year I had been bummed when Liam told me he wouldn’t be able to ride his BMX to school anymore. His sister had started 6th grade at the school which meant his mom would drive them now. It just makes sense, he said adult-like, echoing what his mom had likely told him after he had lost his protest.

I was like, Hold up, I’m waiting for Frank. Hearing that, Liam scowled. But he waited not saying anything, rolling his bike forward lifting it up into the air and letting it crash back down to the ground, bouncing on its back tire. After doing this several times he announced, Well I’m leaving! hopped on his bike, paused and began riding away. To be honest I was kind of relieved. 

Likely Liam’s leaving was due in part to thoughts of recesses past when Frank, to the delight of all the girls present, performed feats of strength. Most recently he did a handstand, and then, with biceps rippling, walked 50 steps before flipping gracefully back to his feet. I remember feeling elated and proud when he gave me a high-five in front of everyone. 

Accomplishment by association. 

I also remember Liam scowling. 

Guilt by association. 

Liam had been my best friend through grade school. We finished 5th grade as co-rulers of the school. We lived in the same neighborhood and had been athletic equals, a dynamic duo of Batmans. He could kick further, run faster while I was more coordinated. In middle school, however, his strength and athleticism propelled him to Superman status. He had become popular and it went unspoken that we would no longer sit together at lunch or partner together in class.

However, each year when that final bell rang we became thick as thieves it seemed, picking up right where we left off on the block, riding bikes around town, shoplifting, getting caught shoplifting or even playing Dungeons & Dragons — whatever the case we had each other’s back (and it went unspoken, just as the fact we played D&D did once school resumed). 

After he left I felt guilty remembering his face after high-fiving Frank. Frank was a curveball neither of us anticipated. I realize now he was jealous of Frank. Strange to think since he was popular and I wasn’t. Stranger still considering 4 years later we barely spoke and now a year after that all I know is he’s somewhere on a football scholarship. I’ll likely never see him again. But back then, he was jealous of my spending time with Frank — sounds gay but it wasn’t, it was adolescence. 

A call from the top of the stairs inquired how it was going and broke his concentration.

Everything’s fine! he shouted back.

OK, just checking …

He looked up from the notebook and stared into nothing. He hadn’t thought about the kid named Frank and the final day of his acquaintance in years, perhaps since the day some twenty years ago that he’d written about it in a green covered notebook? He hadn’t thought of 5th grade in some time, either. He’d forgotten the feeling of being on top that he felt in 5th grade. Was it then or 4th grade that he fell for that girl Mickey that moved away? 

She was riding her bike with a cassette player on her handlebars playing Michael Jackson’s PYT the first time he’d encountered her. Next homeroom. Then recess wearing hi-top Kangaroos with the tongues out. Then outside a duplex near his home. Then he started to have feelings. 

New and exciting. 

Terrifying, unknown.

Exhilarating, 

feelings that embarrassed him. 

Feelings he couldn’t control. 

He found his eyes wandering to her in class 

and his thoughts wandering to her at home. 

She was beginning to notice. Other girls in class made comments that made him blush. Out of fear he’d act dumb feigning no clue of what they were talking about. 

Fear of what? 

Not the things that lurked in the dark or hid in closets and not other things like punishments from parents or reprimands from teachers or judgments of Gods or Soviet bombs … no nothing like any of those.

Then one day he heard Mickey was leaving. Friday, her family was moving back to wherever they had come from. He resolved to tell her his feelings, obsessively running the encounter over and over through his mind. Finally the day he had rehearsed arrived, except she hadn't. He kept close watch of the classroom door and was scolded several times for not following along. He clung to a persistent vision of her walking through the door even as the final bell rang. Gathering his things, he held out hope that she’d be waiting outside.

Walking home he decided to take a long cut past her duplex. He passed up his usual pit stop on the bridge without pausing or even slowing down enough to spit into the river below and watch it flow away, out of sight. There was no time. In the distance he spotted kids headed to the park but instead of running to join, he ducked into an alley way, out of sight. 

Soon her place was visible. He stopped a few houses away, breathing deep and long in preparation, imagining a chance meeting, a final goodbye, a first kiss … in slow motion he approached the quiet side-by-side and stared through the small kitchen window looking for a sign of life. Stopping in front of the driveway to tie a shoe that was already perfectly double-knotted, it was apparent no one was there. There was nothing that would tell the world of the loss this place held for him. Nothing. The only noteworthy detail was the front porch light. For some reason it was on and it was sunny outside. Aside from that, everything was indifferent.

The man stood up to stretch. He recalled that afternoon vividly. His feelings of longing were unbearable. He didn’t want to be alone and found refuge in some friends outside. Ironically, Liam was one of them. 

Mickey continued to consume him. Maybe she was home now? He pictured a moving truck, her family’s possessions on the lawn, and to her delight, him lifting heavy things like a hero into the truck for them. He simultaneously wished he was alone so he could go to her house and thankful his friends were with him. In desperation he hatched a ridiculous plan that he felt foolish about as soon as he heard it leaving his mouth. 

He told his buddies to get this, 

they wouldn’t believe it, 

it was crazy see,

but there was a house on the other block that had it’s porch light on this morning when he went to school and it was still on when he came home! 

Could they believe it?

wasn’t it crazy?

and what’s more 

he bet it was probably still on! 

Then he told them about the kids he saw at the park and everyone agreed without hesitation that they should go there. He then added that since it was on the way to the park, they could check out the house with the porch light too! There were protests. Some argued that they should just go directly to the park and others were beginning to question why the light was worth seeing. Seeing his disappointment, Liam championed the idea and so it was decided. See the light, go to the park. Remembering this scene now, it dawned on him that Liam knew exactly whose house it was and why it was important to him. 

Good ‘ol Liam. 

And so they embarked on this absurd adventure, parading their way under the false pretense to witness the decidedly dull and unexciting sight of a light that had been left on all day and all night when actually it was to try and catch one last glimpse of a girl he’d always remember but likely never see again. 

Once again a call came from upstairs snapping him out of his day dream. 

I’m fine, I’ll be up in a bit! 

OK I’ll make sandwiches …

Shaking his head he returned to reading the notebook in front of him.

I remember that October day as misty gray. It was a Friday because the football team didn’t have practice so instead of being filled with us, the lush green field was empty except for a scattering of first fallen leaves, maroon and gold. I watched Liam riding away and was torn, I can still see him pedaling past the tennis courts, shrouded in mist, pedaling pedaling pedaling fast.

I felt torn because that was adolescence. It’s still one of my great regrets: I gave up waiting, rode after Liam and never saw Frank again … maybe he never showed? It’s possible. I could have waited ‘til dark and rode home alone. I wouldn’t have felt regret. Would I have felt betrayed by Frank? Issues of abandonment?

Maybe I’d have ridden by his Aunt’s and seen him,

sorry I missed you

got picked up

early,

no worries

glad I stopped,

happy I met you,

sad you're leaving

me too

a final talk,

a last goodbye?

Closure. 

I’ll never know how different things would have been if Frank stayed through 8th grade. Or if he attended through high school. Would we be best friends? Or would we drift apart in high school like I did with Liam or with everyone else I was friends with in middle school? Probably. After all, he was destined to be popular and that wasn’t my fate … Or maybe I could have ridden his coattails? Been popular by association? In less than a year I’ve drifted away like spit from the bridge from every friend from high school. Friends probably isn’t the right word. I don’t know if there’s a word for people you spend four years driving or riding around drunk with on weekends but never trusting or relating to on anything of any importance. I guess Frank not moving in 8th grade might have made a difference in that regard. If I’d had a storybook, life-affirming high school experience full of glory days and conquests and popularity I’d certainly have completely different beliefs, completely different interests, wouldn’t I? I don’t know, I don’t see that happening since the interests and beliefs I have are the right ones. Aren’t they? 

I remember, I remember

I remember

always always its

I remember

isn’t there ever more than old memories?

Yes … new ones.

I have a sad and persistent image of Frank walking out to the bike racks, scanning the playground, and making his way home alone. Well, wherever you are and whatever you did and whatever you come to do, I hope things worked and work out for you, Frank, my long lost friend. 

He closed the notebook. Paris a hundred years ago returned to mind and he chuckled to himself at the thought of comparing his old notebooks to those of the old Master. He thought back to Mickey’s porch light and tried to remember how long it remained on. Had his friends really willingly walked with him to see a simple porch light merely because it had been on all day? That barely seemed plausible. 

He sat in quiet meditation. He could picture Liam standing by him telling the others it was worth checking out, he had seen it before himself. Not the kind of light you see all the time, he explained, it’s like the Lantern’s ring! He could see clearly the duplex now and his friends parading by it, pointing in amazement at the porch light. The porch that shined even in the daylight, giving off a bright, green light. 

That’s right, he said suddenly, that’s right!

He clenched eyes tight and saw himself running toward Mickey’s house with his arms stretched leaving his friends behind, cheering him on. He mimed the movement from his stool, stretching further, straining with all he could muster causing him to slide forward and off the stool which proceeded to fall back. Its metal frame clanging hard against the cement floor, loud but not enough to break his imagined strides. This time, he decided, nothing would. 

A voice from the bottom of the stairs exclaimed, 

What on Earth was … You haven’t moved a single … what are you doing over there?

I’m not giving up! 

Since when? 

He smiled as he turned and grabbed hold of the notebook.

Ever since then. Let’s eat!