You. (Prose for the People Pleasers)

 You.

I wonder if you’re happy.  I wonder if you are having fun.  I wonder if there is something I can do to brighten your day. Or give you hope.  I love giving you surprises.

Do you like this music? Where do you want to go to dinner? Do you want the last cupcake?

I walked with you.  I carried you. I asked you if you were okay.

I made you three hundred mixtapes.  300. That’s twenty-five days or so of my life I spent in an effort to make a mixtape and give it away. To you.  Get this:  I was real sick when I was 13.  I had to stay home from school.  For some reason, I was into making word search puzzles.  Not doing them. Making them. By hand. I made about a dozen to give to you one day.  They’re still in an old box.  It was never the right time.  I wrote poems for you.  I talked to you on the phone for hours.

  I celebrated Christmas for you.  I wrapped gifts and kept traditions going because I believed you needed them. I remembered your birthday.

And damn, do I love to make you laugh.  I would write down bits and jokes and references for the next time I would see you. It seems like my purpose on Earth is to entertain you.  I memorized jokes by other comedians and movie lines for you. I created material to keep you laughing.

 I organized get-togethers for you. I hosted you and worried more about whether or not you were having a good time, rather than having one myself.  I cheered you up.  I made you feel welcome.

I cooked for you and cleaned for you.  I wrote hundreds of thousands of words for you.  I went to college for you. I was there when things were terrible and you needed someone.  I was there when you were lonely. I was there when you wanted to give up.  I taught you everything I know.  I listened to everything you had to say.

I made it easy on you.  I let you get away with a lot. I allowed you to use me for a while.

I picked you up and drove you around. I helped you move.  I put in a good word for you.  I did your laundry. I made peace with you.  I swallowed my pride for you. I tried to be the bigger man and kept my mouth shut for you.

I stayed in touch with you.  I hid my jealousy and my frustration from you. Most of the time, I would rather keep you happy than be honest with myself. (Which, in turn, is being dishonest with you.)

You’ve never asked for any of these things, yet you’ve been foremost in my thoughts as long as I can remember.