another

ten years ago we celebrated your coming of age at the sushi train. it had been a school day. I think it rained on and off until the evening. someone would have made a cake, and we would have sang you happy birthday in the undercroft at recess. the girls would have given you jewellery or alcohol, something that would've cost money. most of them had part time jobs. I'd saved money cleaning the house for a copy of the new record from an artist we both liked. the album released on the same day. I remember running down into town at the sound of the bell, ahead of the rest of the group to follow through. you would have thanked me for the gift and given me a hug. but I don't remember that. I just remember rushing into the store, worried they'd have sold out by time I arrived. as though the music really mattered. 

we liked the one about the lady from the bible teaching how to dance. I think we spoke about dancing along in the audience. you passed before she came back to the antipodes. I saw her sing with other friends. they miss you too.

six years ago I took a train from London into a world I still remember. my heart leapt louder than my thoughts. I hauled my bag up an ancient lane to High Street and into a nightmare hotel. the lady at reception said she'd spent time in my home town. I found my room on the top floor of a crumbling afterthought that became home. twin single beds and a salmon pink ensuite. maroon carpet and a mini-fridge. a view of the new world from my balcony. maybe I washed my face. I definitely thought about staying inside. but I had no food and they were serving free pizza in the function room. I can't remember who I first saw or spoke to. the pizza tasted like cardboard. my head was spinning, the most anxious I had felt in years. but we took to High Street, down into the village centre for drinks. and though my roommate never showed, I woke to friends to share a home with.

today you turned twenty-eight. I think about ten years ago and wonder where you'd be if not for the car. would you have moved north as planned? would I still know you now? today I woke much older than we were back then. I shaved my face and checked the news. my rhythm is different now, and I worry what you'd think. I carry ghosts you bore before me, though I lack your drive to change. it rains a little on the ride home from rehearsals. another day further from the sound of your voice and the sushi restaurant. another year on the other side of a dream I still remember. a ribbon of cloud on the stream with some kind of meaning between.