Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Too late

I cried as I saw the boy's photos.

I saw him with a goofy grin. I saw his pictures from the night he won the bhangra contest.
I saw him with ten different bottles of beer, whiskey and soda. Molson's, Blue Label and Cola. Never in a drunken stupor.

I saw him at Indian formals. 15 different silk ties.
I saw his eyes were wide set, large and thickly fringed. That they always laughed. I saw he went to the mandir each weekend. I saw he believed in one god.

I saw him with his iphone. Vacationing through the Caribbean. Posing in his track pants and grey boxers with a bare chest.

I saw him with his bike. That he died on.

I saw his blood on the asphalt. His motorcycle under the '97 chevy. The yellow tape. His 700 friends who mourned.

We'd never met. Now we never could.

I felt his cologne when he stood in his jeans freshly showered. I heard their laughs when someone had clicked as the boys hoisted him up on their shoulders. I felt the girls' heartbeats rise as he danced wearing his silk tie. I felt the sun's glare as he squinted and his face looked softly kind. I felt the crisp morning he stood outside his law school.

That was you. That was Him too.

I cried over the photos I'd never see.
I cried for the stranger I could never befriend.
I cried because it wasn't part of the plan.
I cried for the friendships it broke.

I cried.
Because you couldn't.