That day ReX and I met again. I didn’t tell anyone for I was afraid they would all worry. ReX looked scruffy, long haired, messy. He hadn’t shaved. His arms and feet had the patchy whiteness of dry skin. His t-shirt was faded. He picked me up from where he would normally. We went to where we would normally. In a replay of many scenes from many years ago, he added one packet too many of sugar in his coffee, and I complained about being late. But not everything was the same — I had expected him to grow up. I had expected him to be on time. I had expected him to have changed. The least I had expected out of him was to have had a shower. All of a sudden, I was all grateful for my life, and what I had become.
It’s been 9 years since we first met. It’s been a few years less than that since the irrevocable damage. And as usual, I will spend the day, today, in quiet mourning. To remember and to remind myself what I lost. And build a case for why not all important dates are worth remembering. And why I systematically destroy everything sacred. And why I am so feverishly protective about PD.
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I’ll cry after eons today.
