Name Tag

I waited for you, and finally you picked me up and draped me over your neck, hanging loose like the star-cross you wore when you first walked through those old gates, ornamental uniqueness, but camouflage nonetheless. And the first person I saw, the first person you met before you both knew you'd end up in the same place, the familiar face, the smile the same but framed by a graying beard, but I only got a quick glimpse of you and your close-cropped hair was dust covered in snow. We marched, me, you and your roommate, toward the river courtyard, and I watched the smiles and heard them fondly say our name. I listened to the stories, compressed and edited, but you asked the most questions. You always did. You saw a woman. Time touched her too. But you saw that beautiful girl you knew since you were children in the brightness of her eyes. She was still there. Did she also see you as a boy, even for a moment? You thanked her for her kindness to that past self, and you saw those same eyes turn into Central Park puddles. Is it possible our truest selves can be brought back to life by a simple rewind? You wound your watch to truth, and you saw a couple people glance down at that ice-blue face, and change the way they looked at you ever so slightly. You taught me so well how to read faces. I know you were so good you sometimes had to turn away when you saw lies like neon. I understand, why you always liked the darkness. You put me on each day, so many friendly faces, so few lies, why was everyone so honest, and only in the details and the questions did you hear the cracks, a divorce, a lost job, a parent you knew on their way, or gone. I wish I could have seen your face those nights. I think you lied once. But it's so hard to tell just by your voice. On the second night you heard someone say that they're surprised to see you because they thought you'd be in prison by now. And I heard you ask why? I wish you hadn't done that. You spent your entire childhood with bars on those project windows. And you fucking escaped. You walked outside with a woman you met the first week of school, and you both spilled your sufferings. I heard you say you're not the same since you were stalked and robbed, and I heard the pain of her son struggling with a single mom just like you. Look what happened when you sat outside, away from the crowd. You both understood how hard it was, every regret, your shared shame. But she shared your words and helped you find the strength not to stay anonymous. I heard every friendly greeting, saw every joyful smile. And I felt you hesitate: whether to save me, or toss me in the trash. Some of them needed me, and some did not. But it felt so good to be rocked like that silver star on that gold cross. No matter where we end up, we always rest on your chest. I decided to write this in my old college journal.