The Dark, Quiet Hours

Do you remember when we were young, and the world seemed simple? When play outweighed work in our life balance.

We were giddy with delight, snowed in together, reveling in all of our short wintertime’s possibilities of coziness and adventure, sipping hot chocolate in the igloo we built.

Do you remember the tricks we learned on the monkey bars in recess and the seemingly endless games of The Ground is Lava and Tag we played? Or the time we spilled oil paint that was supposed to be for a jungle on our classroom wall all over our classroom floor?

The obstacle courses we would build for ourselves, racing through the apartment, the magic shows we would put on and all the delicious things we would bake.

Do you remember the games of sardines we’d play, all cramming into a tiny hiding place and bursting into laughter when the last person found us?

And the letters we used to write to each other, sending them from one city to the other in the hands of your sister, chronicling our days and the little ordinary things that made them.

And sleepovers.

We would lie together in the stillness of my room or yours and tell each other our innocent secrets in the vulnerability of the dark, quiet hours.

Do you remember when we got a little older and things started to change?

The playground we were too old for, but played on anyway, creating playful teenage raucous.

Sitting around on the roof before and during play practice, wondering why we signed up for this, but enjoying each other’s company nonetheless.

When we sat on those swings in the dark and you let me see just a little part of yourself behind that hard outer shell. I listened as you spoke.

What about all those awkward high school dances? Eating popcorn and doing each other’s hair before.

Do you remember when we paused at the top of the hill to eat our popsicles before flying down, steadily picking up speed without needing to pedal?

The forty flights of stairs we climbed to the top of the tallest forbidden abandoned building in the city; the view we had from up there; a million little lights.

Do you remember our spontaneous trips down to the Dead Sea, just to see the sunset or the stars or the little fire we built or the glow of the coals fueling the shisha we’d share? The time we couldn’t believe there was an ice cream truck and had to stop for this novelty.

Do you remember the first time you took my hand into yours? So simple and beautiful and yet so confusing and new.

We got a little older and realized we were capable of hurting each other, whether we wanted to or not, and the world perhaps wasn’t quite as simple as we thought.

We would lie together in the stillness of my room or yours and share our secrets in the vulnerability of the dark, quiet hours.

As we stood in that driveway, in one last embrace, I thought my heart would break from this goodbye. And it did.  

Do you remember when we were far from home, now so-called adults and trying to find our own way in the world?

Do you remember when we shared our stories, where we came from and who we thought this made us to be? How we listened to one another and became family?

Those two weeks we ate a lot more sand than is good for a person because we couldn’t keep the floor of our campsite from jumping into to the food we cooked.

We started to navigate greater depths of emotion, sometimes striding and sometimes stumbling through decisions that kept getting harder.

As we held each other in those last embraces, I thought my heard would break from these goodbyes. And it did.

Do you remember when you welcomed me in, a distant relative, and introduced yourself to me? We tried to make up for all the time we never had and found this was harder than we imagined.

Do you remember when you welcomed me in, a complete stranger, and introduced yourself to me, listened to my story, created space for me?

The books we read out loud to each other or the walks we would take, trying to help each other out of the pit we had both sunken into.

We would lie together in the stillness and share our dreams, our hopes, our pain, our loss in the vulnerability of the dark, quiet hours.

The world is not simple. Life is not simple. It is messy. It is fun and full of laughter, painful and full of tears. Easy answers are an illusion.

We laid together there and without a word you took me in your arms in the vulnerability of the dark, quiet hours.

Do you remember these moments? I do.

I wish I remembered more. Every mundane, lazy afternoon. Every wild idea we had, every look and smile we shared. Every shadow that crossed your face and every joy that lit it up again. I wish I could have memorized every moment.

Do you have any idea what you meant to me? Do you also still sometimes ache with the realization that we are not together? Life took us different directions. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if it hadn’t? I guess we always knew it would, but as I lie here alone in the dark, quiet hours, it hurts.

I know there will be days when I can think back on these memories with an inner smile and gratitude to have known you, but today, I miss you. Or the memory of you. Maybe both. I don’t know.

02.05.20