Forever Missed

          I woke in a hospital chair that covered in plastic that clung to my thighs. Tugging down my denim shorts, I quickly glanced around the room. A digital clock read “4 AM” in dim, hard-to-read numbers. Shoving my feet in my sandals, I tiptoed over to the sterile, white bed in the middle of the room. In between the sheets lay my best friend, Adam. Machines read his pulse, blinking in near-perfect synchronization with his raspy breaths. My heart ached for every wheeze. It sounds like he’s dying inside, I thought somberly, a tear slipping down my cheek.

          I heard a groan as Adam rolled over. His black bangs drooped over his eyes, but I kept my hands at my side. I was fearful of the shiny, pink, too-tight scar tissue under it.

          “Good morning,” I said, my voice cracking.

          “It’s the middle of the night,” he huffed, flopping over to his stomach.

          “I know.”

          Silence passed between us, broken by the punctuated tones of the EKG.

          “Perseid shower tonight,” he finally said, his voice rasping. Every scratchy breath was like a stab in the heart.

          “Yeah.” I looked out of the small window in the corner of the room, streaming in moonlight.  

          “Let’s see it,” he replied, smiling.

          “Through that stupid little window?”

          “Outside.”

          I opened my mouth, but no words came out. His wheezing breaths, sleepless eyes, and pale skin were obviously something that belonged here, in the safety of the hospital.

          But how much longer could I take in the miniature room? How many more breaths, sounding as horrible as tabooed nails on a chalkboard? How many more stares from glassy eyes that will never be the same?

          Silently, I pulled the wires from him, and his face broke out in a grin long forgotten.

          I helped him from his bed onto his crutches, which we finally maneuvered down the stairs after long minutes of trial and error, down to the lobby.

          The security guard was asleep by the elevator, and the receptionist was painting her nails a startling pink while carefully leafing through last month’s Lucky. It’s almost too easy, I thought to myself as we snuck through the doors.

          The night air was refreshing and cool. The sky was dark and heavy, sprinkled with stars and a thin crescent moon. Meteors streaked across the midnight-black canvas.

          “Look,” I whispered, pointing to the fading meteor.

          “Wow,” he whispered, transfixed.

          We sat in the grass, watching stars shooting across, for hours.

          The sky began to lighten, and rays of the sun crept behind the trees on the horizon.

          “Ciara,” he said, his voice cutting out like static.

          “Yes?” I replied, watching oranges and pinks infect the otherwise impeccably blue sky.

          “I’ll miss you.” It sounded like sandpaper was rubbing against Adam’s throat as he breathed in and out.

          “What?” I asked, worried, looking into his eyes, glazed with pain.

          “Goodbye, Ciara.” He finally murmured. Adam’s voice dropped off and his hand felt cold.

          “What?” I repeated. It was too horrible to be true. “No. No, no!”

          “Adam!” I shrieked, desperate. “Adam, come back! No!”

          The world was beyond me as I pleaded, and hurt resonated so strongly I felt numb and emotionless at the same time in a possible, impossible combination. There was a me, screaming at the sky, begging for my friend. But there was a different me. I had discovered and hidden away inside a safe niche inside myself, closing off everything. I locked the door behind me and threw away the key. It was secure in there, and nobody could hurt me anymore. And soon the ache from Adam dying left, leaving nothing but a cold body where he used to be.

*  *  *

          It was August, and my bangs stuck to my forehead as I wobbled across the cobblestone path and through the wrought-iron gate. Deep inside, in the locked room where I lived now, I registered this as a cemetery.

          The champagne bottle sprouted little dewdrops, weakening the grip my fingers held to it. The glasses in my hand felt cool against my skin, but made a rough scraping noise as I set them on the headstone.

          R.I.P.

          Adam Hawthorne

          Forever Missed

          I poured some champagne from the slick bottle in each glass. Lifting one to me lips, I sipped the bitter, bubbly alcohol. It kept me from talking, which was fine by me, as I had nothing to say.

          When I had downed the glass, I paused, and shifted from foot to foot.

          “Hi,” I muttered, staring at my shoes.

          The leaves on the trees all whispered to each other in the breeze. I peeked out of the window from my hiding spot. Anger simmered under my skin, but I swallowed it down.

          “Um...” The trees shook again, this time their branches rattling together. Rage boiled through me, and nothing could hold it back. I had broken out of my spot, and my feelings ran free. Anger, sadness, denial—everything that I held back these months bubbled ten times over and I could not take it.

          Screaming, I swiped the champagne bottle off of the grave, and it shattered against the ground. “You were my friend!” I cried in anguish. “I trusted you! You were never supposed to hurt me!”

          It wasn’t enough, in any way. Someone had to be punished, somehow, but I didn’t know who. Adam. He deserves to feel what he made me go through. I screeched at the grave, and threw his champagne flute at it. A satisfying clink resonated through the graveyard as it shattered against the granite. “I hate you! You promised! You were never supposed to hurt me! I HATE you! I am so happy you are dead!” I yelled, salty tears pouring over my cheeks.

          Adam. He had paid. He paid enough, when I realized he had seen me suffer. Who got the revenge?

          Who?

          I knew who it had to be when I took the glass in my fist and smashed it against his epitaph. I had taken him from the safety of his hospital bed, I remembered as I pounded the stone with the glass. I hadn’t reminded him to take his medicine often enough, I thought as the glass splintered into my hand. I let him die right next to me, I realized as the champagne flowed into my cuts and stung my fingers. “I did this!” I shouted as the flute showered onto the ground.

          “I’m sorry!” I cried, now collapsing onto my back.

          The trees followed the wind again, and I could hear them now.

          Thank you, Ciara, the leaves whispered, for the best dying day anyone could have. I’ll see you soon.

          My eyes begged to cry, but I was all out of tears at the moment. “Thank you,” I whispered, “thank you so much.”