Timeâ€™s passed, but sheâ€™s never far from my thoughts. It started out small. We dated a year after high school. We fought more than we fucked but just barely. She wasnâ€™t right for me but right from the start I loved her. Thing is, I dumped her. It was complicated and it felt as wrong as it did right. Turns out that breakup left a her-shaped hole inside me.
For a time there I tried not to think of her, but you know how that goes. So I gave in and thought of her. I gave myself Tuesdays. Tuesdays Iâ€™d remember her smile, her curly hair, her laugh. Time was Tuesdays were enough. Iâ€™d recall our little adventures, remember her outside in the yard, just dumb shit like pushing her on the swings. Hard to believe that we were only kids.
Ours wasnâ€™t the greatest love story ever told. Nah, we were too young, ragged, unformed. Stupid wouldnâ€™t be too much of a stretch. Sometimes I thought that if I could just see her, Iâ€™d be able to forget her.
Tuesdays I took to leaving her little notes, a line from a song or a book, just a little hello taped to the door. They were nothing, just some junk to fill up that hole inside me. What can you say to someone who will never love you back?
Wednesdays Iâ€™d drown the memories. Cruel day, Wednesday. Iâ€™d lock her notes in a drawer and move on. Years passed like that, and six days a week I did what needed to be done. Got outta school, got a job, you know the deal. I even found a wife. It took a while, but I settled down and had a kid, and thatâ€™s alright. But Tuesday kept coming around again. Tuesdays I felt alive.
After the kid, Tuesdays stopped cutting it so I gave her Wednesdays too. I thought I deserved it, my two days. Everybody needs a weekend. Years went by and my kid got to be the age I was when I first met her. It got me thinking, you know. I got gutsy and friended her on Facebook. I saw her every day and every day was Tuesday.
I was wrong about seeing her. I loved her all over again. I donâ€™t want to sound callous, but I was waiting on her husband to die. In the meantime I posted jokes for her. I looked for glimpses of unhappiness in her photos. So what if I never found any? Iâ€™m not insane.
One week Tuesday came on Monday. I just wanted to talk to her. Youâ€™d be surprised how easy it was to figure out her address. I hid out till she got home, and tried to talk to her when she did. I asked how she was, and I asked her to swing for me. I asked her to say yes to me. When she said no, something came over me. I started wanting to drag her outside in the yard and use the chains on the swingset to tie her up, just to get a good look at her. Didn’t do it, though.
Damn if her husband doesnâ€™t come home early Mondays. He called the cops on me and the very next day they had a restraining order. No more Facebook photos. Soon after that I swore off Tuesdays one more time and I found Jesus. Reverend says He saved my soul.
I gotta say, things are better now. Reverend says Jesus loves me, so now I get loved back. Tuesdays are Sundays now, and nobody cares that I see her every time I look at Jesus up there on the cross. Finding Jesus feels right, and it’s kinda like the rightness eclipsed every mistake made along the way.