We were at the high school after I came home from college for the first time. It began to get late in the night. There was a stalemate in our conversation, and you said that you were going to go home. I didn't believe you because I didn't want to. But you did, you weren't joking.

When I saw the red brake lights of your car pulling out of the school driveway, I told myself that I would accept it, and so I began driving toward River Road to go home. But I started crying, and I drove around that one block, where the pharmacy is, a dozen times, while I called you and hoped so hard that you would pick up your phone.

And when you answered, you were almost back at your house, twenty minutes away. But you drove back to meet me at the school. I was crying, hugging my knees behind a chair. The lights were off but you found me easy.

A lot of things had happened that week. My grandpa had died but I didn't tell anyone that that was the reason I come home. You didn't know it either. You still don't.

We went back to your house and you let me sleep in your bed. It was both love and charity, the kindest thing. But there was no way for me to tell you that, no words for it.

You have been so far gone since that night. I wonder if, in many years, you will remember me at all.

Because I will cherish your care for a long time.

And I wish you knew that.