summer of '92
do you remember, Angel Perez, those lazy El Paso summers
when you and i would wear capes over our bathing suits
and chase each other through sprinklers in the mid-afternoon heat
playing superheroes and supervillains
until we fell into a collective 100-lb heap of exhausted super-bodies
onto the crunchy west Texas grass?
you were always the hero, and i the villain.
do you remember how we'd run with bare feet
to the playground down the street
whenever we heard the melody of "Pop Goes the Weasel"
to try to catch up with the ice cream man
who didn't speak any English but always nodded his head
so i could get my Rocket Pop
and you your King Cone?
we would always have to point to the pictures on the truck,
and the ice cream man whose name was Miguel would nod.
"Cincuenta centavos," he would say.
i remember how your ice cream fell out of the cone once,
how you cried until i picked it up and washed the dirt off of it with a hose.
i remember how you smiled at me when i put it back into your cone.
i don't think i could ever forget that smile.
you cried again when it fell out of the cone for the second time.
i washed it off again for you.
i didn't care that you were my arch-nemesis
and that i was supposed to be the bad guy.
sometimes i was the bad guy,
like that time i got mad at you during show-and-tell
and stomped on your Transformer figurine
because i had forgotten mine.
i had to stand in the corner for the rest of class that day.
do you remember, Angel Perez, how we always ran?
we were going to run to Nova Scotia together.
we didn't even know where it was,
but we liked the way it sounded.
whatever happened to that plan?
instead of Nova Scotia, you ran to La Jolla,
and I ran to Alabama.
We were supposed to be B.F.F.s
but now i have only fifteen-year-old memories of you
and i wonder if, wherever you are, you're still fighting crime.
when you and i would wear capes over our bathing suits
and chase each other through sprinklers in the mid-afternoon heat
playing superheroes and supervillains
until we fell into a collective 100-lb heap of exhausted super-bodies
onto the crunchy west Texas grass?
you were always the hero, and i the villain.
do you remember how we'd run with bare feet
to the playground down the street
whenever we heard the melody of "Pop Goes the Weasel"
to try to catch up with the ice cream man
who didn't speak any English but always nodded his head
so i could get my Rocket Pop
and you your King Cone?
we would always have to point to the pictures on the truck,
and the ice cream man whose name was Miguel would nod.
"Cincuenta centavos," he would say.
i remember how your ice cream fell out of the cone once,
how you cried until i picked it up and washed the dirt off of it with a hose.
i remember how you smiled at me when i put it back into your cone.
i don't think i could ever forget that smile.
you cried again when it fell out of the cone for the second time.
i washed it off again for you.
i didn't care that you were my arch-nemesis
and that i was supposed to be the bad guy.
sometimes i was the bad guy,
like that time i got mad at you during show-and-tell
and stomped on your Transformer figurine
because i had forgotten mine.
i had to stand in the corner for the rest of class that day.
do you remember, Angel Perez, how we always ran?
we were going to run to Nova Scotia together.
we didn't even know where it was,
but we liked the way it sounded.
whatever happened to that plan?
instead of Nova Scotia, you ran to La Jolla,
and I ran to Alabama.
We were supposed to be B.F.F.s
but now i have only fifteen-year-old memories of you
and i wonder if, wherever you are, you're still fighting crime.