Somewhere in the pile of discarded desks was one with “JM + GR 4ever” carved on its blond wood face. I’d used the pointed end of the heart-shaped pendant you’d given me for my 16th birthday. Two years later, I’d enter Ball State and you’d ship off to someplace called Vietnam that none of us had ever heard of. The boy who returned was as hollowed out as these ancient hallways. Still, it’s good to see you here today.
My husband’s arm slips around my waist. I lean into his side, grateful for the good life we’ve been given, while my hand finds its way to the delicate gold chain encircling my neck even now. I wonder if you ever think of me.