The days past by, each one seeming longer than the past one. I feel the dreams scattered at my feet. I always talk about my feelings, but in reality, I was always wondering about his. All those
moments in the past, I wish I knew what his emotions were. And more importantly, how he feels about our future being shattered to pieces. If he saw me now, would he be angry? Happy? Sad? I ask too
many questions. There’s no point pondering a dead man’s thoughts, yet I do it anyway. Marriage meant becoming one when we are still two different people, but how does that work exactly? Maybe it
means we share so many memories together it means we share the same mind. Or maybe it means our hearts have the strongest connection. If only it were strong enough to span the ages. But I’m
thinking like him again.
The time was around three a.m., and I had spent so much time writing in my journal I had forgotten to feed the fish. The poor things will die if I keep going on like this, I thought, and quickly I rushed to the kitchen for the food. Dozing with a pen, I felt as though I had waken from a bad dream. But in reality, it was just my journal world I had been torn away from, all the feelings in there real and true to my heart.
My bed sheets russled as I stepped into bed, the pillows cold from disuse. The last time I slept was Friday, for I had homework for my biology class I wanted to get done while it was still fresh in my mind. But Saturday and Sunday came and went without rest, and I was beginning to understand why my siblings murmured that I was “A shadow of my former self.” as I passed the house every now and then.
A year. I had spent a year dead. Even if I was beginning to move on, there is something said for a girl who can keep mourning for so long. It’s not so much the strength of my love for him, but the fear of forgetting, of trying to live without him, of trying and failing to be without him. Somehow, never trying bothers me, but the thought of knowing he won’t be there when I smile makes me scared.
I admit it, I’m scared. And, I’m weak.
But I think I should try, at least once. Try, to live without him, because maybe that’s what he would want, for me to be happy, even without him. Because, I think that’s what love should be about. But maybe I’m wrong.
Still. I would like to think I’m right.
I crawled under the covers, eyelashes batting my cheeks furiously. They were drooping, my eyes were, and I was so tired it hurt to move to turn off the lights. The darkness felt comforting, and the pillows warmed from my body heat. Slowly, consciousness drifted away, and though I swear I was content to try and move on, my last thoughts still belonged to Ben. How are you doing? I’m missing you, he mouthed, and that was when I fell asleep.
I dreamt about the field that night. It wasn’t sunny as usual, but instead dark yet beautiful none the less. The grass felt cold between my toes, I was without shoes and had bare feet. My hair was down, and I was wearing a flowing white dress tight around my waist but loose from there on. Someone was holding my hand, and pointing towards the children playing in the park. It was the same kids on the day that he died, except instead of running away like before, they held hands and looked towards me and him, and with their free hands waved to us. Almost like a mirror, but things weren‘t going the way they did, we smiled at them and waved back. I wanted to leave, but the hand I was holding pulled me back. He wanted me to sit down and wait. But I didn’t know what we were waiting for. And I felt like I really needed to leave, but the way the colors of the leaves changed made me want to stay too.
I knew it was Ben holding my hand, but I still couldn’t see his face. All I knew was that he was smiling, saying “Isn’t this nice?” and I replied “It certainly is.”
The way the wind blew curled the ends of my bangs as they scattered on my face. He pushed them to the side where I always put them, but his hands were cold and I moved away. My skin had goose bumps, but the sun was setting and that was normal. The night sky quickly came, and stars shined through from the darkness as he kissed my cheek and left. No other words were exchanged, but it felt as though we had spoken for years about everything that’s happened. But I still didn’t say it. “I love you” escaped me, even in my dreams.
Everything faded, except for me, I had stayed even when the tree and the grass and the log and the stars had left. The fear of nothing being around me, and nobody either, made me scream at the top of my lungs, my eyes getting fuzzy with tears, but it was also blurry as my mind passed out. My eyes fluttered open, but my body didn’t jerk up from the dream. Instead, I didn’t move, it was still dark. So I stared at the ceiling until my eyes adjusted to it. Tears came down my cheeks, but I let if flow until they finally stopped. How scary it is to be alone.
That morning I woke up lazily, without any energy whatsoever. I had class in an hour, and needed to get going if I didn’t want to be late again. On the side of my nightstand stood a picture frame with Ben at school displayed. In a book, it explained that talking to some object as though it were the dearly lost one was a good coping mechanism. I stared at the picture and said as calmly as I could “Good morning Ben.” Nothing really happened, and why would it, I was talking to a picture! So in a slightly lower voice I faked Ben saying “Hey! Nel! I’ve been waiting for you again!”
A pause of thirty seconds passed, and the silence made the awkward scene even more weird. I finally pushed the picture down so it wasn’t staring at me. That was really stupid, it thought. There was a reason why I never took psychology. And there was a reason why I never usually read books like that. The only reason why I did it was so I could settle my worrying mother, who gave the book to me in the first place! I wasn’t completely crazy, just a little bit. But not enough to result to this mumbo jumbo, no offense to those psychology majors who think they can fix me by sitting me down and telling me “It’s going to be ok, Nel.” Even though I continuously tell them not only that I am fine, but to not touch me, and they don’t listen!
I’m still somewhat sane. At least, I think I am. If anything, I know I’m not insane. So after getting dressed, eating breakfast, brushing my teeth, and washing my face, I grabbed my books and left for school. Going down the stairs, I calmly walked out of the lobby, tossing that ridiculous pile of papers supposedly called a book down the trash can near the door. It felt good to be rid of it, and my short walk to the campus seemed better that day.
© Copyright 2016 Naminesfriend. All rights reserved.
Book / Young Adult
Essay / Memoir
Poem / Memoir
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