I wake up in the middle of the night, having dreamt about him again. The dreams, and the hollow pain in my heart that came along with it, are becoming less frequent. But it also feels like I'm forgetting about him.
I check the date. Kenny had died three years ago today, only a year after we began dating. The doctors called it a freak accident. No way could someone have such bad luck to hit his head in just the right way to kill him. But Kenny had died every day since we were friends, and came back to life the next morning. So, I expected him to kiss me awake like he always did, but he didn't. I waited for a week, hoping I would feel those lips against mine again, but I didn't. A week turned into a month, a month into a year, and I was desperate to see the laughter in his eyes. But it was gone for good. Kenny was gone for good.
He had been amazing, full of laughter and love. He was only 19. He just got accepted into university with me, something he had previously thought was impossible. I remember when he had got his acceptance letter.
I had been cooking dinner in our tiny kitchen in our tiny apartment that was a struggle to keep. He was fetching Timmy, the cat he had got me for my birthday, before it got dark and getting the mail. Suddenly there was a loud, whooping sound and Timmy meowing loud. I ran outside, scared that something had happened to my babies, but no. Kenny was jumping up and down and laughing, waving a piece of paper in his hand, and Timmy had ran up a tree, scared by Ken's yelling. He ran up to me and lifted me into his strong arms, yelling that we were going to be classmates again. He gave me one to those kisses that made me glad he was holding me off the ground, because there was no way my jello legs could hold up the rest of my body. We went inside. Dinner burned, Timmy slept in the tree, and I couldn't walk right the next day.
Our life together had been amazing. He woke me up and the morning with a kiss and I made him breakfast while he showered and fed the cat. We went to school and met up at Subway for lunch. We went home after work and ate dinner while watching the stupid cartoons Kenny loved so much. We helped each other with homework and if we finished early, we would make love. If we didn't, we would fall asleep in each other's arms anyway.
Everything about us was great, perfect even. The way we fit into each other's arms, the way our lips fit together, even when we fought it was out of love. And when we had sex, it was indescribably amazing. He knew just how to touch me to make me go numb with pleasure. The way he could work his fingers and tongue and lips… He was great. We were great.
He would do anything for me, and I for him. I remember the night the cat I rescued, Mittens, ran away. He had just got back from Hell, and he was tired and stressed and hungry. But as soon as he learned what had happened, he rushed to the expensive, organic grocery store on the other side of town to get my favorite- and expensive—soy coffee ice cream. The next morning he snuck out and rescued Timmy from the shelter as an early birthday present.
I think he knew that something big was going to happen. The week before he died, we were going out to my favorite places every night, doing everything we loved to do, having sex all the time. He said he loved me as often as he could, and he was being so sweet. I thought it was because we finally had enough money to travel, to get out of Colorado and get married somewhere that allowed it. Maybe it was. Maybe he just died at a really unfortunate time. But I think he knew. He was so intuitive, and always knew when something big was happening.
Of course I'm heartbroken he's gone. There is nothing worse than his absence, and that huge hole right where my heart should be. But lately, I've been thinking. Isn't it more important that we lived and loved and we were happy? Maybe, just maybe, he'll come back. He IS Kenny, after all. Until then, I have his memories to dwell upon.