Fang. Fang, Fang, Fang. I recited the name over and over again in my head. Did I ever take that name for granted? Take him for granted? No. Absolutely not. He was my life, I depended on him like I depended on the breath in my lungs. My right-hand man. He was my soul mate.
He was gone.
I can't comprehend into words what I was feeling when I read his note. Frustrated, sad, depressed, angry, hurt, confused - and synonyms for each.
Every day I expected to wake up and see him standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, smiling that lopsided grin I loved so much. Everyday I expected to wake up from this nightmare. I pinched myself fifty times hoping the next one I would wake up. Nothing.
Now, I pulled out the note from my dresser drawer. It was still in the same envelope when I first found it on the counter.
The note, however, had been through just as much as the flock had. It had been torn at, crumpled, ripped and cried on. The works.
I read it over and over again. It wasn't necessary, I had it memorized. But I read it to see his handwriting. To see where the pen was pressed so deeply into the paper from stress, where his anxious fingers had ripped at the sides.
"If in twenty years we haven't expired yet, and the world is more or less in one piece, I'll meet you at the top of that cliff where we first met the hawks and learned to fly with them. You know the one. Twenty years from today, if I'm alive, I'll be there waiting for you. You can bet on it."
Twenty years! Twenty years, Fang! I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to rip apart the creator of my existence, the scientists who had brought me up.
Twenty years. I wouldn't make it.
Everyday I would look at the calendar. Every day was a struggle. I had never seen the minutes tick by so slow, never felt the gut turning in my stomach like this. As a leader, this was the hardest thing I had ever done. Put on Max's brave face and get through the day.
Get through all 7300 of them.
I hated Fang for putting me through this. Hated him for abandoning me. Hated the fact that he was so stupid and thought I couldn't work with him by my side.
You're wrong, Fang. That's the only way I can work.
But at the same time I loved him. Loved him more than an obsessive high school crush. I sat and stared at his blog for hours at a time, hoping for an update, a hint at his whereabouts. The worst part was, I couldn't even go after him. He made it clear we'd just have to start it all again. And leaving him a second time would be unbearable. And yet, I would kill to see him.
My mom suggested I see a therapist. That was the first time I ever yelled at her, ever got angry at her. And after Fang left, it wasn't the last.
"You have to be stark raving nuts! A therapist! Are you insane? Newsflash mom: I don't trust doctors! She doesn't know what we've been through! What I've been through! With him, with life! How could she possibly help!"
She was speechless. Rare for my mom.
Before Fang - I choked on the name - left, he was my therapist. He got me through the rough stuff.
Fang, who will do that now you're gone? Because, right now, when you're not here, is when I need you the most.