Cornfields and Red Pick-Up Trucks

The Midwest is filled with your ghost. Every red pick-up truck, every cornfield, every rope swing reminds me of you.

I'm visiting my Cousin in Missouri. There's a wall-mart here now. Not like in LA, where there are more Louis Vuittons and Forever 21s than discount stores. It's the biggest store I've ever been in. If it had been here when you were here we would have escaped in a tent in the camping section and made out until my Aunt was done shopping.

Maybe if you went to the same college as my cousin I would have seen you again. You freinded me on facebook and I can see that you've managed not to get any girls pregnant. But you were always smarter than those other hicks.

I remember our conversations--feisty, passionate, important. We played verbal ping pong. The people I live with now talk about strip clubs and weed. They still quote zoolander.

When I think of Midwest boys I think football players, late night guitar serenades, cuddling, ghost stories about the 100 steps, snowball fights, skinny dipping in the lake, fire works on the boat, suspicious parents, hot wings and beer, country music, and chivalry. I loved sneaking out of my Aunt's house to visit you.

I know I will never see you again. You'll marry a cute blond that wants to be a veterinarian. You'll stay in the Midwest. I'll stay in California. My memory will have to do.