​IF SEPTEMBER 12, 2009 NEVER EXISTED

If September 12, 2009 never existed
I would sit outside with a cigarette laced between my fingers and
share comfortable silences with you.
(I would not inhale the stench of your dirty, unwashed t-shirt.)
Sometimes it's hard to say the right thing*
I would watch you scream lyrics I can’t understand, drunken
fingers passionately strumming your guitar.
I would close my eyes and throw my body, fiercely into the mosh-pit
of your friends.
The right way on the hardest day of your life
I would sit silently in a drunken haze and watch you be the
center of attention.
I would enjoy the acidic inhales of your hand-rolled cigarettes.
Breathe in, breathe out, it'll be okay
I would ask you to tell me the stories of your homemade needle&ink tattoos.
(I would not like your tattoos, the punk culture, your piercings, your putrid smell.)
Breathe in, breathe out, I know it's hard to say
I would understand that the rusted lock cradling your neck is a
tribute to Sid Vicious; a foreshadowing of 21 years.
(I would still be judgmental.  I would still judge you.)
And every year September gets closer
I would forgive you for not obeying society’s definition of “normal.” 
I would stop wanting you to be normal.
I would be proud to have you as my big brother.
And every year it gets a little bit colder
I would have intelligent conversations about films (about life) with you.
I would try and understand your mind.
Breathe in, breathe out, it'll be okay
I would admire you for your honesty.
I would try to adopt your skin of individuality.
Be strong, hold on, make it through the day
I would get us drunk on the bitter taste of Pabst Blue Ribbon and conversation.
(I would not drink PBR because it makes me think of you, and the way
it decorated the amber-stained street.)
One step at a time
I would understand why you found a family in Amherst, why they love
the erracticness of you.
I would be jealous of the friends you found, so I would
pretend to be important in their world.
One foot in front of the other
I would sing along to the Sex Pistols with you, the Misfits, Rancid.
(I would not like the Rotten, tantalizing noise of the Sex Pistols.)
I'm going to get through this one way or another
I would take pictures of us smiling, our identical smiles, surrounded
by the tattered interior of your house.
(I would not have photographs of you decorating my walls.)
Because I know it's warmer where you are
I would ask you to visit me in New York.
I would pay for your bus ticket, your food, your company.
Because no matter how far the view
I would ask you to tell me about your leather jacket.  Tell me about
the bands, the chains, the broken zipper.
(I would not use your metal-spiked jacket as a blanket;
the dirty bits of you comfort me.)
I still always look up to you
I would ask you to play Donkey Kong with me—for old times sake.
(I would not cringe every time I see the red and white plastic of GameStop.)
Sometimes it takes a second to sink in
I would be your friend. 
I would stop pressuring you to have a relationship with our father.
That your life is never going to be the same again
I would make an effort to be a part of your life.
(My eyes would not reflect the messy pieces of your absence.)
Breathe in, breathe out, it'll be okay
I would forgive you.  I would forgive myself.
Breathe in, they say the pain will fade away.
 
*Lyrics by Four Year Strong – “One Step at a Time” (partial alterations made)

(April 1, 2012)

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