She wasn't there.
She was always there. Yesterday, and the day before that, just like always. But not today. The bench was empty: dull moonlight swathed across the dark wood, paint peeled back where she'd kept pealing it, and a tiny etched heart with our initials scraped into the center.
It was late. She should be here. Where was she?
I wasn't expecting her. After what had happened.
What had happened?
I knew. But when I thought of it, every detail came back to me, and I had to stop it. I had to push it out of my mind because I couldn't stand it one bit. I couldn't stand her pain, and now her absence.
Come to think of it, I could never stand her at all. She'd drive me absolutely crazy. When we were around other people, we'd have to pretend we didn't know each other. Or, at least not in that way. We'd have to pretend we hadn't spent every night together for the past…I don't know how long, but I know it's been a while. In fact, I started forgetting what my pillow at home actually felt like against my cheek, and what it smelled like. My new pillow for the longest time had been the hard, peeling wood of that bench. And my chest had been her pillow. That's how it was. That's how I wanted it. That's how I loved it. Until she had to change it.
"Why can't we ever tell anyone about us?" I remember asking her one night on that very bench.
"Because," she answered. "They wouldn't understand. Because they would never except it. Because I love you."
"Exactly. If you love me, and I love you, then we shouldn't be afraid of what they'd think."
"Chad, just stop," she begged me. "You know I'm right."
I never brought it up again after that. But after a while, I really didn't mind. My days went by in thoughtless blur, and my nights were what I lived for. I lived to see her, sitting on that bench, waiting for me…every night. Sometimes we'd even stay up the whole night—me laying against the hard wood of the bench seat as always, and her head on my chest, and my hand stroking her hair for hours. And we'd just talk. About everything.
"Chad?" she asked one time. "What would you say is your favorite shape?"
I remember chuckling, thinking her randomest questions were the cutest. "How is that relevant, Baby?"
She pretended to be offended. "Because, that's something I want to know about you. I want to know everything about you."
"But I don't even know that about myself! Why would you want to know something I don't even know about me?"
"Maybe my goal in life is to be more of a Chad expert than the actual Chad himself."
Those were her exact words. I know this because this was one of my very favorite things she had ever said to me. If someone said that to you, you'd feel the same.
"Is that right?" I said, smiling. I told her my favorite shape then. I don't remember what I'd told her. Triangle? Square? Circle?
Ugh. I can't remember. I remember what her's was, though. Because right after I told her mine, I asked what her's was.
"A star," she told me, her voice full of honesty as if she'd thought this answer out for ages. "They're so pretty."
"Hmm…I've seen prettier…" I had said.
Okay, so it was the cheesiest thing in the world to say. But I know she appreciated it, because she managed the smallest giggle, and buried her face into my neck, and eventually fell asleep like that.
God, I missed her.
It wasn't fair.
She left me behind, for reasons I did not know, and all she'd left me was a letter.
I was holding it right now—unopened, sealed, and still private.
I didn't want to open it. Not yet.
Right now, the words that she'd written were words only she knew. Atleast, right now they were. Soon, I would know them too. That's how she meant it to be. She'd written those words for me, and for her. We were the only two who would ever read them.
That's what scared me most. This was the very last thing she will say to me, and the very last thing I will absorb of her. And then it was over. Everything. Except for the memories.
I couldn't open the letter for that reason. Because once I read it, I could never hear her voice new and fresh every again. Any word after that would just be in my memory, hauntingly from the past, and never again refresh to form new sentences in the future.
I looked up from the envelope, damp and sticking to my fingers, and at the bench.
Then I closed my eyes, pretending this wasn't real. Pretending that she'd be sitting on the bench when I looked again…smiling so beautifully like she always did.
I missed her smile.
When I opened my eyes, nothing had changed, except one thing: the envelope was opened.
Dear Chad,
I stopped reading. I had to. I needed her absence to be drilled into me. I needed to be tortured by my solitude, and just let myself miss her.
So I laid down on the bench. Our bench. The bench she was laying on just last night, and now she wasn't, and would never again.
I want you to know that none of this was your fault. I loved you.
I stopped again, the words too heavy in my mind. If she was here…I mean…I was going to tell her that. Tonight. I was going to tell her I loved her. And now I couldn't.
I loved you so much.
Stop. Stop! I couldn't take it. I just couldn't take it. I needed her. I needed her here with me. I didn't want to read, I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear her say this out loud to me, so that I could know she was still with me. And I wanted to say I love you back to her in real words, not just through my feelings. I wished so hard, it hurt. I just wanted her to be in my arms, like always.
Chad, don't stop reading. Please. For me. I need you to hear me out.
No, you don't. I can't hear you, Angel. I'll never hear you again.
I want you to forgive me for what I'm about to do. Forgive me for the pain I will have caused you, and the emptiness and the nightmares that wouldn't leave you for a while. I wish more than anything that you wouldn't have to go through that. Because I can't stand it. I want you to be happy forever and always, just like I wanted us to be together for that long. I'm so sorry we couldn't.
The real reason I killed myself was because someone was hurting me. Someone…who found out about us. They told me if I kept seeing you then they'd keep hurting me. I won't tell you who it was, otherwise you'll knock their teeth out. I won't tell you that if I had to do it over, I would stop seeing you. Don't you see, Chad? The only thing that would've been worse than being hurt by that guy was never seeing you again. I'd close my eyes at night and I'd see your face with those beautiful blue eyes, and I just couldn't face the fact of leaving you. I loved talking to you til I was tired of hearing my own voice, and I'd shut-up so I could listen to yours for a while. And then I'd fall asleep, listening to you breathe, every night and I didn't want to give that up for anything.
Chad, all I ever wanted was you. You were my everything. I'm sorry. I really am.
Love,
Sonny
P.S. Goodbye
I was done. It was over. She'd never talk to me again.
I stood up, then sat back down, then stood again. I felt empty; hollow without her. Like there was nothing in me. The only thing I felt was nothing. I wanted to feel nothing. I wanted to be nothing. I was nothing. Without her.
