On a Saturday, I make biscuits and gravy and think of you. Remember when? You always did the gravy and I would supervise from afar as I cut in the shortening for the biscuits. Remember when my dad came and slept in the guest room and we made them biscuits and gravy and pulled down the coffee pot for them. We weren’t coffee drinkers. I stir my gravy doubtfully, maybe I should have made it more often. I’m not sure it will turn out.
Remember when we were 23 and felt like we had our life figured out? You told me the last time we saw each other that I had broken that in you. You no longer knew exactly what you wanted out of life. You were no longer sure of the plan, or what the plan should be. Good, I thought. That was always your problem.
It’s crazy to me now. The perspective of time. To remember domestic bliss with you. We did alright. You didn’t do my laundry, but I did yours sometimes, since you had all those late nights at Grainger. We would share dinner responsibilities. Our favorite was our Friday ritual that one fall–Steak n Shake after our noon classes. Fridays felt so open and tempting then. Thank god we had a dishwasher. You with your old milk cups. The sour dregs at the bottom.
We disagreed. We didn’t really know how to be a couple. I had my friends and my books. You had your family and your video games. We didn’t eat the same; we didn’t sleep the same. I’m not even sure now, sometimes looking back, what put us together in the first place. You were kind. I was smart. We liked the look of us. Something was always missing. Maybe it’s just that we started out on a deficit. We had such a history by the time we got together. A brief history of lies and deceits and not owning up to our feelings. That seemed okay at the time; we were just kids what did we know, but now I know. I’ve said it before, but I hope you’re happy now. I never see you; I rarely think of you, but the proof is I’ll never forget you. We could have been better but we could have been so much worse.