Years Ago When I Was Older

10 Jul

How serious I was while playing house with him, he being my first love and older by 6 years. How happily serious. I made his meals and washed his clothes, I ran his baths and gently helped him to bed. Time stood still as I watched him fall into a quick, deep tired sleep of no dreams. We lay in a small bed, no TV or radio, but a fast car with the latest in audio, called an 8-track player. We blasted Led Zeppelin while driving to the Bowling Alley to meet our friends. Were we hippies? By then I was still marching for peace, mostly in New York, once at the Pentagon.  He had no political leanings and I did it to belong to something.  I was 17.

The children we lost to the world have been living out their schemes and he, my first Romeo, is dead now, many years gone.

Today in my dotage I wonder at what could have been. Sometimes I cry, many times in gratitude, for I almost lost this precious life, lost it completely, as he would beat and abuse me, and I came so close to the edge that my feet have scars sharp as a blade. He could punch out teeth, break bones, steal your soul. Before he died, he took me to a hell I can never remove from memory.

He loved me that much.


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