When I wrote this post, I didn't know what I know now. I was in an oblivious stupor, something I wish I could take back.
As I said in that post, I haven't written about him other than the brief entry here. But I am going to do it now. I have to.
Here is what I previously wrote about him:
"I met him when I was almost 17. It was a hard, dark, lonely time in my stupid teenaged life. He was younger than me, by 2 years. I remember standing at my locker, and feeling someone's eyes on me. When I turned around, he was across the hall, staring. When I caught him staring, he blushed, but did not turn away. He maintained eye contact, and amazingly, smiled. There was weeks of this before I finally broke a mutual friend, begging for him to introduce us. I shouldn't have been nervous or worried.
We met in the hall. We were both late to class; the bell had already rang. I was so down that day; I was staring into my locker, when he said my name. I turned around and there he was, same smile, same shine in the eyes.
I fell hard for him. My friends made fun of me, since he was 2 years younger than me. It was I who picked him up when we would get together; he didn't have his license. He was quiet but not with me. He was silly, goofy, kooky with me. He was so brilliantly talented with music. He was one of the first in well over a year that I allowed to read my poetry. I opened my journals and my heart to him. He wasn't like any of the others. He didn't dress like them, he didn't act like them (other than the quiet part). He acted as though I was fragile when we were together, but helped me break myself when I needed it. He taught me to skateboard (I sucked). We talked on the phone for hours. We laid on my driveway & stared at stars while telling one another our deepest thoughts, our strongest fears.
I took his virginity. He broke my heart. Twice. He deserted me when I needed him so badly, the first time. The second time he deserted me, he fell deep into drugs. I couldn't forgive him, for years. I spent YEARS hurting because of him, because of us. I still get angry & disgusted when I think about how we ended. I still ache when I think of his eyes, his voice, his devotion, his dreams."
His name was Kevin.
He was the middle child. His older brother was the same age as me, in the same grade, but never around. He had a younger brother that he was really protective of. His father wasn't around, and his mother worked hard to provide for her boys. I vaguely remember a boyfriend of his mom's, and Kevin telling me that he didn't really like the guy, that the guy scared the shit out of him and his younger brother.
When we met, he smoked weed with other friends in my group. But when he heard from a mutual friend that shit bothered me, he stopped. At least for awhile.
When we were all hanging out, there were times we would drink. And he was a lush. It still makes me smile, thinking of him stumbling all over the place in our friend's house one night. He had two left feet when he was drunk, and he was a gigglebox.
I remember our first kiss, full of beer & Skittles, lust & fear. He was leaned against the living room wall of the now-abandoned home of one of our friends. Why do I remember the look in his eye, but not the taste of his lips?
He was full of music and life. He encouraged me to write. I argued with him about his diabetes. He played the bass guitar while I wrote lyrics to songs still unsung. We fell asleep on the phone many times- I would wake in the morning to the dial tone at the other end of the phone. Or, sometimes, the soft purr of his snore.
He said sweet things that he meant, that crushed my heart.
He was non-judgemental, and careless with his blood sugar.
I took his virginity. I cried.
He wanted more; I wanted more.
Somehow, we wanted different things.
I remember arguing in the kitchen of my father's house. I remember seeing an anger I had never seen before, directed towards me. I let him walk out the door.
Months went by; the rest of the summer burned off, and school started again. I would hear his laugh in the halls sometimes, and my stomach would drop.
I really missed him.
I had heard from others that he was doing drugs, skipping school, working to help his mother pay the bills. I heard he was still ignoring his blood sugar.
I am not made of magic, but I drove by his house anyway, skipping class.
I stood outside the door, nervous and close to tears. He didn't answer. I walked around back, hoping no one saw me. I knew how to sneak in the back door.
I slid up the stairs to the room he shared with his younger brother, melodies luring me behind his closed door. I knocked, whispered his name.
I opened the door and found him sprawled on his bed. He looked peaceful.
He wouldn't wake up.
I'll spare you the details, but I can say that I have never pushed a needle in someone's skin before, or since. I heard my blood rush in my ears. I couldn't breathe. I called 911. I shook him awake, barely. Blood sugar. I ran down the stairs, let the paramedics in, and bailed.
That was the last time I ever saw him.