Endgame

Recently, I've been learning how to be me, with you and with her and with him, and them and him and her. What prompted this was the end of the school year. As sad as it is, we all know that the closer you get to the end, the more everything is packed with meaning.

Still, I remember the last time I talked to you, and told you I would see you when I got back. So clearly, I remember you driving me an hour to go to your favourite Mandarin restaurant even though it was on a school night. I remember that whenever we went to Harvey's you ordered an original Hamburger with onions and tomatoes, a senior coffee and a side order of milk, and you used to spill it all over the table. Then me, Leah and grandma would make smart comments about your smart mouth and how we didn't want sugar on what you called "fish cakes" even though they were obviously "potato pancakes."I remember every Christmas and every birthday and what was inside every envelope that you gave me marked Miss Dani Grant from Alvin Hoops. I remember you only feasting on potatoes every Christmas and I remember when I told you to stop smoking because it was bad for you. And after that, I remember grandma putting that red sticky on her door that said no smoking even though you'd already quit. I remember being proud of you for doing that even though you'd sit outside with Uncle Brian say "I've just come outside to smell the smoke, not to smoke the smoke. I promise." I remember every one of your grunts and laughs and that yucky handkerchief that you kept in your pocket. I remember. I remember everything and every moment, and I will remember and I choose not to forget even though the end came, and became the endgame.

So the end is not the end, its just a pause, or a semicolon, or a way for me not to forget, but for me to always remember.