Gold

I remember his hair. Blond as gold. Golden as the sun. One day to his shoulders. The next only at his ears. He never was content with the look. His hair never bored me. Always playful and lush and blond and fun. Always there. I remember his clothes. Always a band T-shirt. Always black jeans with flared up black pockets waving at me. Always black boots holding his ankle tight. He didn’t own a collared shirt. His style made him. Forever his style. I remember his car. Never actually his. Never the same. A 2011 glistening black C-class to a burnt orange mustang from the 70’s. He had only one car in his name. His black Escalade. His baby. One day this all changed. The boy disappeared. No clothes. No suitcase. No sheets on the bed.