Writing Prompt // The Word “Hope”

Write a post inspired by this word: Hope

A few nights ago I was sitting in my living room when this song came on. That’s right, some 2005 screamo nostalgia for ya. So, what did I do, you ask? Well, I started looking through old photo albums. Yup, that’s where I fucked up, y’all. And I started to remember the winter break that Beau came to Texas from California. The same winter break that I took a leap of faith. I followed what I wanted, not what everyone else wanted for me. The winter break that he left, but not before taking my face in his hands and saying “This is going to happen. We are going to happen.” He kissed my forehead and slung his backpack over his shoulder as that song played through the car speakers. And I watched him walk away. Sunglasses on to hide the bloodshot eyes from crying, and one last look back before crossing through security. That was the winter break that changed all of my plans. By that next Spring Break, I was on a plane for a week-long visit. By the end of May, I was packing up my stuff and making my first move ever, over to the West Coast.

And the rest is history as they say. That night, I sat there looking through albums and videos. Remembering my first car ride on Jefferson, with butterflies in my stomach, as Beau held my hand. Trips to the beach. Sampson Simpson. The wild night with two friends at a bar. The really wild night that I got insanely drunk, pissed off, and walked through our living room in just my underwear. For all of our roommates to witness. I still don’t know why I thought that was a good idea? I remember the car rides through the vineyards at sunset. How Beau would take me down the winding roads after dark when I got homesick because it smelled like rain as the vines were being watered. He knew that rain always reminded me of Texas. I remember that weekend at the river when I did the bravest thing I had ever done at that point in my life. Climbing up onto a cliff, Beau clasping my hand as he counted down, and then we jumped. Together. A year later we moved back to Texas. Memories of our wedding. The live shows and friends. Our daughter’s birth. And different jobs. A trip to the zoo, and a visit to California. To introduce Emery to the reason we chose her name. Preschool and kindergarten graduation. Staycations in the city. Trips to the park and carnivals every year. With every page turned a different memory would come forward. Even some of the really bad ones. I laughed and cried that night. Only this time, it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t devastating to revisit all of those moments.

Sometimes I find myself missing the old “him”. Those big beautiful eyes, and full lips that were always smiling. I miss listening to him play the drums or strumming away on a guitar as I read a book on the couch. I miss seeing his face light up when he would start talking about music. I miss late night trips to Del Taco that he’d insist we go on because chicken tacos at midnight were always the best kind. I miss hearing him laugh. The real genuine one that came from his belly. I miss hearing him talk about what he wanted his future to look like. His hopes and dreams. I miss the two kids who were so in love that they couldn’t be in the same space without touching. I miss the rooftop conversations. I miss watching him and Emery play in the front yard. As she got older, watching them bond over music and art. I miss the days when he was happy, you know? I miss the “him” before drugs, resentment, and anger took over. Before the lies began to stack up and our relationship started to fracture. I miss the person who wasn’t so hurt and pissed off at the world. At me. Every now and then, if I’m lucky, I get to see that person for a few moments. And it gives me hope that one day he’ll be back. Because I know he’s in there somewhere. Until then, I have the memories. I have our stories. I can always look back on them with fondness, and smile. Because even with all of the bad there was still plenty of good that came from us. And even though we’ve both changed so much since then we still have fragments of who we once were inside. They come out to play for brief moments of time. They’ve contributed to creating who we are today after all. 

Secretly, I’d like to think that those two kids are still out there somewhere. Singing at the top of their lungs, holding hands, and loving each other fiercely. Heading out to shows, kid(s) in tow, showing them just how much music means to them. How it could heal, and make you feel whole. I'd like to think that they're still out there clasping hands as they jump off of cliffs, and going on as many adventures as they can imagine. I’d like to think that they took a different path, and made better decisions. That they were able to work through any issues that arose in a positive way. I'd like to think that they were gentle with each other and open about what they felt. What they needed. I hope they’re both healthy, and that their dreams came true. I hope they have the family that they always wanted, and I hope they’re happy. I hope they’re so fucking happy. Because they deserve it.

We all deserve it.