Page 42 of The Locksmith's Promise

His middle name, the one we chose together.

And what had I been doing that first year? Drinking and fighting and fucking my way through every weekend.

Where was I the second year? Scraping myself off the floor, living hand to mouth in a roach-infested apartment.

The third year? In trade school. That was the year I bought a guitar to replace the one my father smashed over my back.

Then came music lessons and hours of practice between working every job I could get my hands on.

If I wasn’t working, I was playing.

Soaking my hands in ice water every night so I could do it all again the next day.

I joined one band after another before growing restless, striving to move on while stuck in the dreams of the past.

Ever searching.

Ever waiting to be worthy despite my betrayal.

Despite that first year.

There were no more women for all the years after.

But I doubted that would make up for the betrayal of the first.

Could she forgive me?

Had there been others for her?

I closed my eyes. The thought soured my stomach. But page after page of the dull, flat, look in her eyes hurt more.

Nothing prepared me for what I found on the last page.

Pressed between the plastic sheets of the page lay the love letter I wrote her after our first official date.

The delicate gold chain I bought her adorned with her initial.

And mine.

Pressed wildflowers from one of our hikes.

A blurry photograph, our foreheads together, mouths open wide in laughter.

A close-up of her hand in mine.

A picture of me on my first birthday, sticky cinnamon bun crushed between my chubby fingers, sitting on my mother’s knee. Her hair obscured half of her face as she dipped her face toward mine, but her smile shone wide and bright.

I could almost feel its warmth.

Why didn’t she take me with her?

Running my finger over the sheet, I traced a dinner receipt, a movie ticket stub, and a hotel key.

Evidence of my broken promise.

Please, God, give me a chance to make good on it.

Closing the page on the past, I set the album aside and stared into space.

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