deafbajagal
New Member
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2007
- Messages
- 5,168
- Reaction score
- 5
You always wore that school letter jacket. I hated the damn thing. The smell of leather reminded me of Daddy's lashing belts. And the white lettering was impossible to keep clean. I finally just kept a toothbrush and a box of baking soda in my backpack.
I would do anything...anything to have to clean it again. And smell it again. And see you in it as you walk down the school hallway again.
I should have never let you drive that night.
I helped Davy clean out your locker. I couldn't let your mother do it. I wasn't going to let Davy either. But he came to school that day, met me right out of the math class, and had that box in his hands. I knew it was something he had to do. We didn't cry. We didn't look at each other. No words were exchanged. He held the box while I took each of your things out of the locker and into the shaking box. Even the feather.
I didn't go to your funeral. I wanted to cry for you...and I knew I couldn't hold it all inside. But I regret not going now. They said your mother handled it very well. I'm sorry it was much harder for your father. He held the football the whole time, rocking and holding it. I'm sure it was the same way he held you when you was a baby. Davy just sat there, clinching his fists. He finally got his release that night - and I let him keep punching the bag even when his hands were bleeding. And when he finally was ready to stop, I cleaned his wounds, put medicine and ice on it, and finally wrapped it. It was then when he asked me if it was true that you died in my arms.
I don't hate that red jacket anymore.
I would do anything...anything to have to clean it again. And smell it again. And see you in it as you walk down the school hallway again.
I should have never let you drive that night.
I helped Davy clean out your locker. I couldn't let your mother do it. I wasn't going to let Davy either. But he came to school that day, met me right out of the math class, and had that box in his hands. I knew it was something he had to do. We didn't cry. We didn't look at each other. No words were exchanged. He held the box while I took each of your things out of the locker and into the shaking box. Even the feather.
I didn't go to your funeral. I wanted to cry for you...and I knew I couldn't hold it all inside. But I regret not going now. They said your mother handled it very well. I'm sorry it was much harder for your father. He held the football the whole time, rocking and holding it. I'm sure it was the same way he held you when you was a baby. Davy just sat there, clinching his fists. He finally got his release that night - and I let him keep punching the bag even when his hands were bleeding. And when he finally was ready to stop, I cleaned his wounds, put medicine and ice on it, and finally wrapped it. It was then when he asked me if it was true that you died in my arms.
I don't hate that red jacket anymore.
