When A Heart Breaks

by The Last Letter

There's nothing that can compare to the ache in his chest; the loss of her in his life.

I woke up this morning

And I heard the news

I know the pain of a heartbreak

I don't have answers

And neither do you

I know the pain of a heartbreak

I sat up, rubbing at my eyes. The noon day sun was cascading through the living room windows and I couldn't believe Mom had let me sleep this long. It was one of the many plusses of summer vacation – stumble out of bed early to do the barn chores, collapse on the couch to nap the rest of the day away. I stretched, wondering if I should call Mallory and ask her to go for a ride; I had just seen her yesterday, but one day out of seven was not enough to spend with her.

My stomach rumbled. First things first. I headed for the kitchen, whipping up a peanut butter and banana sandwich for myself. I poured a glass of milk and settled down at the kitchen table. I took a bite of my sandwich, tugging the newspaper toward me.

"Jake?" Mom called.

"Mmm?" I returned, flipping the front page over to face me.

And all of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. I could hear Mom's footsteps, but it sounded like I was underwater. Nothing was real, nothing was right. I was going to throw up. My heart was going to stop. I was breathing way too fast or maybe not at all. I could only stare at the front page of the paper and be 100% sure that I was going to die: I could not survive.

The front page had a screaming headline, blaring out the news that there had been a massive accident – an eighteen wheeler had gone off the road, causing several cars to follow in its wake. Photos of the victims were lined underneath the bottom of the headline and there she was – right in the middle between her parents. My Mallory. My beautiful Mallory with her bright smile and her blonde hair was listed among the dead. Hands shaking, I brought the newspaper to my face, scouring the article for details; for a why.

"Jake," Mom's voice came screeching over my ears. "Oh. I didn't want you to see that."

I tore my eyes away from the article, looking to her. I was shocked to find that was blurry – tears streaming down my face. "She's gone?"

Mom pulled me into a hug. Even though I had grown to be bigger than her in my teen years, I let her cradle me. I let her hold me like a child as I cried. "Why?" I choked out.

It didn't seem real. There was no reason for Mallory to be gone. She was bright, beautiful, happy. She was still a child: a happy child that deserved to be able to live life, go riding, and continue smiling. I couldn't imagine her any other way than alive. I couldn't imagine her as she was described in the article – gone from this world, gone from me, gone from what she could have had.

"I'm so sorry," Mom was whispering in my ear. It wouldn't do any good. It wasn't me that needed apologies. "I don't know why things like this happen. It's horrible that they do."

It was then that I identified the feeling inside of me – like all of my internal organs had been fed through a shredder; like I couldn't breathe and I never would again. My heart was broken. Mallory was gone and I was broken and I was already beginning the long process of learning how to live with it.

This isn't easy

This isn't clear

And you don't need Jesus

Til you're here

Then confusion and the doubts you had

Up and walk away

They walk away

When a heart breaks

I went to the viewing hours only so that I could see her one more time. She, Jess, and Charlie were all lined up in a row. Limbs shaking, I made myself walk up to her. She was inside a brown coffin, which seemed so boring, and was dressed in a way that wasn't Mallory at all. I had never seen the long-sleeved grey shirt, or the white skirt before. I wished that she looked more like her – how I remembered her from the last day. She was in jeans and a tank top with cowboy boots and her cowboy hat. She was riding Copper with her hair in a braid and she was laughing.

That was Mallory.

Hesitantly, almost guiltily, I reached a hand into the coffin, running it along the long lock of golden hair. I couldn't bear to look at her face – it made the ache inside me so much worse. Her face seemed too polished somehow. Her eyelashes were too dark and too long. Her lips were too pink and too still. Her cheeks didn't hold any of their red blush or the creases that her smile made.

I wanted to see her beautiful eyes – the ones that I could have spent hours looking into. It didn't feel right for her lips to be still, silent, when she was always talking, always filling me in on the wonders of her day, and of her life, of her thoughts. It didn't seem right that there was no smile gracing her face. It didn't seem right that she was so still and cold, looking more like a doll than Mallory. I wanted her to be Mallory.

I stood over her and I cried. I ran my hand along her hair, over and over again, until a hand appeared on my shoulder.

"Jake," said Amy, pulling me away from Mallory's side, "come talk to me."

I didn't want to leave Mallory, but I was helpless against Amy's insistent hand, guiding me to a set of chairs along the wall.

"I miss her," I gasped.

"We all do," Amy assured me, but I was not assured. I could never be assured again. Mallory was gone, without warning, without reason, and it was something I could never live with. "I'm sorry. I know how much you loved her."

How much I cared for Mallory now was nothing compared to how I knew I would have cared about her. There was something about her that drew me to her, even when I was too young to truly know what love was. Before I knew I could feel something like that, I was feeling it for her. And I had felt it for her ever since.

"I want her back," I sniffed. "This isn't right."

Amy agreed. "But we can't change it."

I wanted to. I want to turn back the hands of time and make it so that she wasn't in that car. Maybe I kept her on the phone a little too long; maybe I showed up and invited her on a surprise ride. Anything to delay the moment when she and her parents left the house. Maybe then they would have simply stumbled upon the horrific accident instead of being in it.

I heard the doctor

But what did he say

I knew I was fine about this time yesterday

I don't need answers

I just need some peace

I just need someone who could help me get some sleep

Who could help me get some sleep

"I think you should go see someone," Mom says, but I ignore her. I'm sweeping out the barn and the rhythmic sound is relaxing. My eyes keep shutting from exhaustion. Whenever I curled up at night, I could never sleep.

"I'm worried about you," Mom tries again.

I shrug. She shouldn't be worried about me. I'm alive, I'm breathing, and sometimes I'm struck by how wrong it feels that I'm like that. I keep being dragged, back in time, to the last time I saw Mallory. I'm looking past my mother, out to the rolling, green hills, and I think back to the last conversation we had.

"Jake … Can I ask you something?" Mallory glanced over her shoulder, meeting mine as the horses trotted along the fence line.

"Anything," I vow.

"What do you think will happen when we get old?"

I frowned, tipping my cowboy hat back as though it would help me think better. There were a lot of things that I thought would happen as I grew up. I was going to go to college. I was going to start a business. I was going to be successful. I was going to keep the family land, along with my horses. I was going to marry Mallory (I had been convinced of this since the first time my eyes had met hers and no one could tell me otherwise). I was going to grow old, eventually my hands would wrinkle, but I would leave a good, happy, legacy behind me.

"I don't understand," I eventually said. I didn't know how to put those thoughts into words, or what she would say if I did. I pushed my horse so that we were side by side.

Mallory slowed Copper to a halt, and I echoed her actions. She met my eyes, head cocked.

"Everyone gets old, right?"

"Right." I agreed. It was a fact of life.

"And there are people like Amy who really isn't that much older than us but seems to be. There are people like Lou who I'm pretty sure was born a grown-up. There are people like Tim who seems like a kid sometimes. And then there's Jack who seems age appropriate, you know, he's got the wise old man thing down." Mallory shrugged. "I'm just wondering who I'll be when I get old."

"You'll be Mallory," I told her. "You'll be beautiful."

She smiled at me, quickly averting her eyes to Copper's mane. "Everything changes when we grow old."

"Doesn't mean it has to be in a bad way. I think," I quickly reviewed the examples she had offered moments before; "you'll be like Jack."

"Jack?" Mallory cried out in shock. "Why on Earth would you think I would be like Jack?"

"You're already wise. I think you'll just get better with time."

Mallory considered this. "Yeah but he has a moustache – I'd look awful with one!"

I laughed. She laughed. She kicked Copper into a canter. "Race you!" She shouted, voice carrying on the wind as I took off after her.

I shook out of my reverie as Mom looked at me. "I just want to help you."

I leaned the broom against a stall door, moving to hug her. I didn't have the heart to tell her that she couldn't do anything. No matter what she did, no matter what she tried, Mallory would still be gone. I would continue living, growing old, perhaps even grow a moustache, but Mallory wouldn't age with me. I would never get to marry her – or find out that, somehow, I'd been wrong and we weren't meant to be. I would still be living day to day and her days were already numbered.

I closed my eyes, my mother holding me back, and wished that it were Mallory.

This isn't easy

This isn't clear

And you don't need Jesus

Til you're here

Then confusion and the doubts you had

Up and walk away

They walk away

When a heart breaks

When a heart breaks

When a heart breaks

Oh, when a heart breaks

It was sunny the day of the funeral and it felt like a slap in the face. The sunlight, excited and giddy, came through the stained glass windows of the church. I was sitting in the front row, right in front of the brown coffin that held what used to be Mallory. I couldn't focus on anything that anyone was saying – not the minister, not the aunts, not Jack. It physically hurt hearing them speak about her in the past tense. I still didn't want to face that this was real – that she was gone somewhere that I wouldn't be able to reach her.

I looked, instead, to the statue of Mary and Jesus that was located at the very front of the church. Mom was a religious person and I believed, more because of her than any real faith I ever held of my own. But I looked at the faces of that statue and I suddenly needed to have faith. I needed to believe that Mallory was in heaven. Surely she was walking in ethereal streets made of gold, angels singing about her. I needed to know that she was still smiling, even though I couldn't see it. I needed to picture her happy, safe, with her parents. I needed to be confident that Mallory, though beyond me for now, was not entirely gone, that she still existed somewhere.

I wept because, looking at that statue, I was suddenly sure that I was going to see her again.

This isn't easy

This isn't clear

And you don't need Jesus

Til you're here

Then confusion and the doubts you had

Up and walk away

They walk away

When a heart breaks

I don't own anything recognizable. Thank you to my beta: noble6. The song is When A Heart Breaks by Ben Rector.

~TLL~