freewrite #3

"Fuck."
That is it. Everything else they tell you, about the final thoughts a person has before their brain splatters, before their hearts give in and their inner-most bowels escape their physical being, comes down to four letters. Those memories of the first time you held your eldest child, or the way your father pulled your ear as he kissed your cheeks before school in the morning...
Gone.
Fuck. You really wanted to believe that they, those nuances of your mother, sisters, best friends- would be yours. Forever. Unfortunately, when you choked on that cherry pit, watching Pretty in Pink, alone- again, you had to learn that finite nature of "forever." Much shorter than you presumed.
Remember being a door monitor in 6th grade so that you could escape the trenches of Ms. Somer's English class a bit earlier than the other students? Standing the hall just before the bell and watching your peers flood into the corridor... Knowing that their backpacks had found lumbar lodgings long before the bell had sounded?
Remember it now, because you won't then.
There was a night after a field trip to Philadelphia, when you stared at the phone for hours before finally calling. At 12 you may not have understood the duties of the term, but you really wanted one. When he said that he would be your boyfriend you shreaked. When you kissed, you realized the difference between 5'5" and his 5'1", you fled. Not knowing that it would be years before it happened again- four, to be exact.
But that one has vanished now, too.

All you know now is this... fuck