Steven

I

Years have passed by
but it still
seems like yesterday.

Shadowy figures,
forgotten dreams,
a dear voice
and endless laughter
from a golden summer
just like yesterday
or like yesteryear
when I was younger
just barely ten.
Ages of time
away from me now,
but I still remember
you, Steven.

Strange how clear
things are now.
Passageways in the fog
that makes up my memory
that I travel.

The golden summer--
June: the family reunion.
We went off together
with my brother and sister
to explore Burdette Park lake.
Who wanted to stay
and listen to the adults
reminisce about old times?
We were young
and brave.

Maybe we should have
asked permission,
but perhaps we knew
that permission would
be hard to get--
especially from your mom.

As I remember it
we were catching
tadpoles-- really wild animals--
when your mom
discovered us.

Even though the water
was ankel-deep
she acted
as if you could have drowned
her precious
eight years old son.
How dare we take
such a risk?

My sister
really paid for it.
She was the oldest
and shoud have
known better,
at least your mom
told her she should have.

If we only have known
about August . . .

II

I didn't see you
after that day.
You lived out of town
away from me
until August
when the future stopped
for you.

Damn!
I still hold the tears!

Your mom took you
to visit grandma
up in
Peru, Indiana.
(I've been there
it's a lovely place)

In the month of August
nice, hot
ice cream weather.

Parked cars.
Empty streets.
At least it looked empty
except for the approaching
ice cream truck
on the opposite side
of the street.

Ice cream truck slowing.
You running.
Another car
coming from the other side
driven by a young woman.
Disaster looming.

A mad dash
between parked cars.
She doesn't see you.

Crash.
Screams.
Tears.
Maybe a thump.
A fade to black. . .
and

DEATH. . .

III

A few days later
I realized my loss
of innocence
during visitation.

For the first time
I understood death.

You weren't just sleeping.
You never were coming back.
It was final.
Life was over.

I cried . . . 
oh dear lord,
I cried!

Cousin Mickey and I
didn't run around
like the children
we once were.
The freedom of youth
vanished.

Sometime during
the visitation
Mickey and I
talked quietly.

I still remember the
conversation.

It was short.

I WOULD GIVE MY LIFE
SO STEVEN COULD LIVE!

I meant it then,
and even today
some twenty-four years later
I feel the same.



In Memory: Steven Marvin Schneider
Sunday, July 8, 1962 - Thursday, August 12, 1971