I posted a new story over at Six Sentences last week (a little different fare than the usual blood, guts, and violence indicative of a Kevin Michaels story):
We were in the fourth grade the first time I walked you home that cold, rainy October day after one of the neighborhood kids had picked on you, and I promised to always be there to protect you. By the time high school rolled around I walked you home from the bus stop every afternoon, pretending I needed help with my homework, looking for reasons to talk while working up the courage to admit I wanted to be more than friends. During a summer break from college, I walked you home that same day the doctors said there was nothing more they could do for your mom; I held your hand and let the tears fall, remembering the promise I had made that afternoon in grammar school. And for years, after long, hard days at work I walked you home to the house we shared, unsure how we would pay all the bills yet still have something left in the bank to build a future, but certain about the depth of our love with the strength only the young or the foolish possess. We raised five kids, filling our house with love, laughter, and many more good times than bad, and each night after dinner when we walked up and down the neighborhood streets before turning for home, it felt as good as that first time I walked you home. Now an emptiness surrounds me with each step I take on those same streets filled with memories of our conversations, and an overwhelming loneliness comes over me while I hold you close in my heart and walk home alone.
Thanks for checking it out-