Hodges
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Contrary to popular belief, I do have a first name. It's not a terribly fancy first name, being neither unique nor strange. I like to think it eloquent in its simplicity.
David.
Mmm, David. Nice, two syllables. I've always liked the letter D too, so that helps. And it rolls of the tounge just perfectly, sharp and then a short pause before the lyrical part.
Unfortunately, no ever calls me David, it's always Hodges. There was a time when I was David to a single person, the one who I loved.
That would be my ex wife, as it's kind of hard to run a relationship going off last names. When that chapter of my life ended, so did the use of my first name. I accepted the fact that only my closest loved one would ever call me David again. Be it on the phone during a long trip, or shouted down the stairs in our new house. Or even a whisper in our classic cliché rocking chairs when we're ninety.
Nowadays, it's always 'Hodges,' sad, impersonal, terribly awkward, at least at first. For a while I wasn't sure Hodges would work as I'd planned, but then it sort of became my first name. Or, rather, it took the place of my first name. David was no longer important to me. I hardly respond to it anymore.
Don't get me wrong, people still call me David, but in the same sort of condescending tone that implies they are just trying to get my attention. Like when your mom uses all three of your given names to scold you.
But there was a time when I was David, back when I was in love, when I was untouchable by human hands, when only she could make me smile. It's still hard to smile without her.
I hope that someday, I can become 'David' again, but I'm afraid that hope is wasted.
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Author's notes: I've said it before and I'll say it again, Hodges needs a hug.