i never got to say i’m sorry to the boy with green eyes

by Jen Schneider


we met over scrambled eggs and hash browns. his plate loaded with the #5: four eggs, four strips of meat, and potatoes. extra pepper. plus a double stack. i ordered the #2: one egg. two strips of sausage. i was under-consuming. my stomach in knots. unsure of myself and my bearings. he was in training. played midfield on the uni’s football team. i was wedged between three bodies in an undersized booth. his frame left room for one. the conversation carried tales of origins and aspirations. small town usa. cities on opposite coasts. farms with livestock. parents who trade on the big boards around the clock. coffee flowed alongside juice. sour orange clinked sweet apple as grapefruit winked. jukebox tunes tangoed alongside casual banter. he was quiet. so was i. as the plates cleared and the chatter subsided, his eyes, kind and a deep green, locked with mine. we joked over green eggs & ham. homesickness, too. two tired irregulars in a city that never sleeps. we became inseparable. freshman pairings turned sophomore sizzles. fried eggs & pan-fried potatoes. heads in books of politics and war. eyes on each other. junior then senior year knots. four years in. found ways to share four seasons. train rails, bus routes, oversized texts on undersize desks. survived scares and semesters. within and without campus limits. late nights at the twenty-four-hour gym. he always in training and perfecting all plays, though the fields changed. from city concrete & astro-turf to stock markets & cryptocurrencies. he always had a love for the game. also thought i was a real catch and said so. was eager to tie all knots. i hesitated as he hurried. time on both watches. myself, persistently undertrained. ultimately i said goodbye over voicemail. then collected my trash. cleared my plate as if i had ordered a daily special. easy as that. he wrote & road all rails. to rekindle & reclaim what we’d had. he no longer quiet. just sad. i regret my poor performance, especially after all that time. i failed to even say a proper goodbye. 


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Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of Recollections, Invisible Ink, On Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.