The population of cells exploded at the same time,
First the initiator, then the enhancer.
We were probably told the same time, maybe the same day.
They say, what a shame to be ten days away from manhood,
or eight months from fifteen.
And I wonder what my sweetie did that summer day.
Nine months later I sat at school
in my father’s empty classroom and cried
through homeroom.
I had forgotten the fresh, biting pain of this,
Until I walked through the same feelings
of my sweetie’s.
And then it all came back, and the big box and
her beautiful hair gone.
The porcelain face that didn’t look like her,
The empty shell; the reason I have not approached
another casket and never will.
I didn’t understand then,
and I don’t pretend to now.
God is the only one who knows why.
I guess I will not find out why
until I see her again, and God,
and I will say, "Why, God? Why did you take my friend?
Why didn’t radiation work? Why didn’t the new bones work?
Why didn’t she get to dance in New York?
She would have, you know; danced in New York.
She would have graduated in 1996."
Maybe he would have gotten married that same year.
Had children, a house, a good job.
Maybe I would have met him when I was there with my sweetie.
Maybe he and his wife and my sweetie and I would have
gone to the movies.
Or something.
Maybe our children would have played together.
Or maybe his eldest would have baby-sat for our little ones.
Maybe she would be there too.
Three little houses, all in a row,
Ours, his, and hers,
and we’d never not put quarters in the slots in the check out.
I made that promise long ago, to always put quarters in the slots,
especially when the little bald poster child resembled her.
One time I put nearly ten dollars in one of those things.
The cashier thought I was crazy.
A crazy little twelve-year-old.
She told me to save my money, but I said this was the deal:
Quarters in all the slots of every cardboard cut out for remission.
That was our deal, God’s and mine,
and I intended to keep it until the day I couldn’t
go through checkouts anymore,
but then she died, and I stopped putting quarters in the slots.
I thought, angrily, God must not want my quarters anymore.
Instead of hope in aisle six, it was sadness and anger…..
When I saw old women and little boys digging for change, I thought
All those people who believe that by giving quarters,
their friends will get better; their unselfish act will be rewarded.
They are naïve. That’s what I learned in the seventh grade.
There is no correlation between your quarters and her life.
I wonder if this is how my sweetie felt or still feels
when he walks down the checkout and sees
the poster children wearing their baseball hats
without any hair sticking out from under the cap.
Did he have the same broken deal,
quarters for remission that never came?
But now that I am not in junior high, not a little kid,
and my faith has grown,
I realize that it is not God’s fault, He has a plan,
He wanted her then, and when I think about it,
who wouldn’t? She was so sweet and kind and fun.
So I’m thinking that maybe I should
start putting quarters in the slots again.