by Melinda Blount

Created on: July 02, 2007

Do you ever listen to songs that meant something to you in the past, and end up caught in those memories you should have let go? Like how Tuesday's Gone reminds you of that boy you loved, more so than you could ever love someone that you ended up with? How he cried over his first love, and you wanted so much to be his last? Like how country songs break you down, because it was all he ever listened to?

"If she says I caused her hurt, you can take her at her word
know she's speaking from her heart, when she talks about the pain
she's says I'm to blame, you can bet I played my part...

she can't say I didn't cry, she can't say she didn't know..."

(Rick Travino... She Can't Say I Didn't Cry)

He was still beautiful to me. I lost myself, daily, in the sad of his blue eyes, in how he couldn't wink but would try when I was but feet away. I named him god when we were still but flirting children, he would pull my hair and I would pretend to cry. We were 23 and 21, respectively.

The fights are what brought us down to adults. I, angry at his escape from my dreams; him fighting feelings that remained even after our insults to each other. We grew old in the time it took for me to realize he was never going to be mine, in the time it took for the idea that I couldn't handle that truth to settle in his mind. Spitting cat mad, I reached to remove his eyes with my words, daily. He sparred skillfully, a master at bouncing my pain back to me.

"Jason, can't you say one nice thing to me? Just one thing" as Rick Travino sang our goodbye from the radio I stationed above my work table. In two years, all I wanted was a few words to hold onto, to know I didn't damage my heart for nothing. So many insults, so many instances when he would slit those blue eyes and rain black over my fantasies.

He turned, quickly. Looked down at his fingers, cracked nails and the gray of being washed one too many times. "You're beautiful" he whispered.

Fear. I was standing there, as open as a minute old wound deep to the bone and he was going to resort to a catch and release insult. I knew I wasn't beautiful to him or we would be sharing popcorn together, cuddled on a love seat. Driving down the road, me curled next to him in his truck, hand in hand. Why would he joke when he knew I was three words away from breaking apart, an egg dropped on concrete?

"I would of preferred something you meant." A scowl; arms crossed over my heart, as if that would reflect the pain.

He turned, again, ready to walk away, to leave me standing there still begging, pleading. "How do you know I didn't?" and he was gone.

". . . If you haven't heard by now, how much I let her down
When you do, you can sure believe
That I made some mistakes but that don't take away
Just how much she means to me. . ."

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