Sunshine
Hey you!
How have you been these long years?
Where are you now?
Did you find love and embrace it hard?
Just wondering, do you ever think of me?
For 40 years you have inhabited my mind.
Hiding in the shadows only to burst into sunshine when I least expect it.
What an apropos name, Sunshine.
You certainly lit up my days.
Every time I conjure your memory, I’m right back in your glow.
It’s a late Colorado afternoon.
I’m driving home from the store.
There by the side of the road with a smile on your face.
I recognize what your thumb is asking.
So, I pull over and let you in, ask you where you’re headed.
“Nowhere in particular,” you answer.
So, down the street we go.
“Would you like to join me for a beer?”
“Sure.”
So, off we drive to my roughneck duplex, you chatting up a storm.
Yes, you’re a talker; your laughter is infectious.
You look so serene sitting there, finding ways to make me laugh.
We’ve made it halfway through the beer; now we’re flat on the floor.
I don’t know how this happened, but it sure feels good.
In the afterglow, we discuss your situation. You’re a girl with no home.
“You can stay here if you like,” I mention; I’ve never seen eyes so bright.
You don’t have to say a word. I can see it in your smile.
I put some steaks on the grill as we settle into our first day together.
Comes the whirlwind of fresh love.
Every new day, a panoply of adventures to explore.
Our day trips into the Rockies in search of the ideal skinny-dipping hole.
Concert dates and dinner dates, lazy days, all in pursuit of one another.
Oh, that this will never end!
As I sit and muse on those spirited days, I cringe at how we ended.
Not some explosion, but an unexplainable disappearance.
I think, though, I now know the answer.
Your mother said you were alright, so I’m sure that no one kidnapped you.
No, just as ugly, though.
The moment you told me “He r*ped me;” that was the straw.
“Who?” I asked, her head on my shoulder.
“The next-door neighbor,” you sobbed.
I phone the police.
The sheriff arrives about twenty minutes later.
And so, the farce begins.
After taking your statement, the horror unfolds.
He escorts you to the neighbor’s house and questions him.
I curse that man for putting you through that ordeal.
He comes back with a cock-and-bull story.
About how the sex was consensual.
You become withdrawn as if the light has drained from your soul.
I know the story’s bullshit. And I can tell you are hurting.
Your unwillingness to press charges perplexes me.
I now know this is common with victims traumatized by sexual violence.
I know the shame attached to your soul; I understand your mistrust of the law.
I know my support was insufficient; I should have confronted the sheriff.
I should have told you, “It’s not your fault.”
When a victim must confront their abuser, the odds are against the victim.
I don’t blame you for disappearing; you always were a free spirit.
But I blame myself for not protecting you and standing up in your hour of need.
Of all the souls that have crossed my path, you were the one worth saving.
Thank you for the memories, tainted as they are.
They’re alive just for you.
I hope you’ve found a home.
But if you’re still a wanderer, I hope you see our moon.
That you’ve found your sunshine again.
I bear with you the scars.
Let these words mend the holes in our hearts.
I’ve tried to let your memory go.
But you’re always standing on the side of the road waiting for me.
I’m always ready to drive with you; our destination, the stars.
First published in Lit Up on Medium
