The Fountain
The fountain gurgles happily—
An insult to my mood.
The shining granite out of place
Next to the stained concrete.
Cigarette butts scattered all around it.
I wonder if one is mine.
Or one of his.
I've seen him here too—
And seen him walk away when he sees me here,
His head hanging, greased hair flopping in face.
We both know not to bother the other.
We could talk other places.
But not here.
"The site of the incident," the judge called it
The loose skin dangling from his chin jiggling.
Bob would've laughed.
But he couldn't.
Never again.
Never will his dark eyes light up with a smile,
The skin around his eyes crinkling despite his young age.
I will never spot his curly brown hair in the drive in.
Never hear his tenor voice cut above the noise,
Calling, "Randy! Randy, over here!"
But I can still hear him scream.
I can still call up every detail of that night.
The thud as one of the kids hit the ground.
The deep gasping breaths the other one took
When he managed to get his head above the water.
The sinister laughs of my friends.
The pleasant buzz of alcohol blocking the first kid's footsteps—
But not Bob's scream.
It was a horrible scream,
High and shrieking, gurgling into silence after a few seconds.
The splash as he landed in the water we had sloshed out of the fountain.
The weak whimper as we ran.
Warm, salty tears penetrate the gap between my lips.
Ragged gasps feel like sandpaper on my throat.
The stain on the sidewalk that once radiated bright red has been dulled to brown,
But the memories will never fade.