Please Remember Me

I remember when you used to hold my hand as we raced through fields of clovers and wildflowers. I remember how the smell of spring mixed perfectly with the strong scent of your mother's laundry detergent. I remember how your had more freckles than clear skin across your nose and the way your auburn hair shimmered like copper in the March sunlight.

Do you remember the lake in the woods behind your mum's cabin? You would take me there every spring, just as everything was blooming, even though both of us would be sneezing for days after. We'd strip down to just our undershorts and swim in the lake. I was always amazed at how cold the water was with how warm it was outside.

No, of course you don't remember. That's why I'm telling you.
You don't remember anything now, but I'll fix it. I swear to you, I'll fix this, just like I fixed the fence the time we drove your dad's caddy through it. Or how I fixed the screen on your window after I fell through it when we were fighting in your bedroom. Just like how I fixed your broken heart the summer Jennifer Rennings dumped you in the middle of the diner.

You know, I never could figure out why you dated all those girls, when I was all you really needed. You said that, once, too. You said that I was perfect for you. You thought I was more drunk than you and started confessing things left and right, but I remember all of it. You told me I was perfect for you, but you couldn't date a guy because of your dad. You said that you hated all of those girls, but you couldn't upset your dad because he was your ride to college, and college was your ticket out of this too-small town. You were afraid that you'd get stuck here without college, like most kids did. Stuck working in the shops around town and stuck growing old here, where nothing happens.

That was just last summer, and you don't remember... But you will. You'll remember it all soon, I swear.
You'll remember the first night we met, how everything started with a stupid car accident. Neither of our parents were paying attention and they collided. Only the cars got hurt, but there was still calls to make. You and I were too young to care, so we sat on the sidewalk, talking.

You'll remember the night, just last week, how it's all ending with a stupid car accident. No, no, it's not over. You're going to be fine, I swear. You're going to heal. You're going to wake up. And you're going to remember.

And I will never drive a car for as long as I live, because, while you may not remember this, I will never, never forget how I did this to you. I won't forget that you told me I shouldn't have been the one driving. I won't forget how scared you were at first, until I "proved" I was fine. I won't forget how I should have seen the truck coming. I won't forget the sound of your screams, or the way your hand grabbed mine just before it all happened. I won't forget the way you kept telling me it would be all right, everything's going to be fine, don't worry, as you sat there bleeding on my lap. I cannot forget just how much blood there was, how it wouldn't stop. I won't forget the way you cried for me when they put you in the ambulance without me.

I will never forget how I broke you, and I won't ask you to forget it either. I won't even ask you to forgive me. All I can ask is that you please, please, remember me.