Fifteen

I have loved you since we were 10 years old.

Sharing secrets on the playground swing set; palms clasped.

Wildly thrashing our bodies upward, trying to be the first to get our feet to touch the sky.
We were such dreamers.

Everyday after-school, we'd climb the giant oak tree in your backyard, hanging from the branches like wild howler monkeys.
Playing like feral animals, until the street lights came on and our parents would becon us inside for supper and were forced to part ways.

Those were the days.

We were an inseperable pair.
Over the next 5 years, we grew together, as one.
Facing the 90's as cool, calm, and collected as possible.
Until that one Saturday in June, I remember it like it was yesterday.

My mother had just brought me a new cherry red blazer, and matching Doc Marten's.
I skipped all the way to your house, the entire 6 blocks just to show you; humming "Wonderwall", your favorite tune.

But when I got your steps, something just wasn't right.

Boxes filled your yard.
And I could hear your mother crying and screaming, "Not my baby, oh Lord, not my baby!"
I slowly ascended your steps, not sure what I'd find when I reached your room.

The pastel pink walls where your numerous rock posters once resided were now replaced with shreddings of what seemed to used to be a 3 year obsession with Kurt Cobain.
I walk right in, not bothering to even knock.

"Still torn up over Kurt's death, eh?"
Your face, is stone.
"I'm sick," you say in a voice similar to aluminum cans being crushed.
Your voice sounds raw. Your eyes are blood red. Like you've been crying all night.
"Sick, like how?"
"The type of sick, that doctors cant fix."
And with that, you form yourself into a fetus within my open arms.

Tears falling, creating mini tsunami's on my new blazer, you tell me how you've been diagnosed with an agressive brain tumor.

Stage 3 brain cancer.

The doctors' say there's no hope for you.
So your parent's are sending you to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America.
For the rest of that afternoon, we lie in your bed.

Crying. Smiling. Laughing. Remembering.

Until, at exactly 5:39p.m. your mom walks in and says nothing more than, "it's time to go."
I take off my new Doc Marten's. They still smell of plastic.
"Here," I say, voice breaking. "...take these with you. Never forget me."

I sit on your front steps, knees up to my nose, tears burrowing permanent caverns in my cheeks as i watch you, and the better half of 15 years, sloppily packed in brown cadboard boxes, shipped off to Zion Illinois in a U-Haul.
790 miles away.
Today, was the beginning of the end.

I walked the entire way home, barefoot.
Speaking no words to my parents when I arrived.

They, had already heard.
The entire summer, I never heard from you. June came and went. As did July and August.

Many attempts from everyone around me to "get out and have some fun."

But without my best friend around, "fun" was just an illogical three-lettered word.

September 3rd, you called.
The doctors were right.

There was no hope.
Your tumor was inoperable.
The next Thursday, you'd be on your way home to "wait it out."

When you arrived, I was already on your steps, waiting.

In the same place you left me almost 4months ago.
I watched in awe as your frail body oozed from the passenger seat of the U-Haul.
What has Cancer done to you?
I was almost too scared to even hug you.Scared that i would do more damage to you than already inflicted by the cancer.

It took me, your mother, and your father a total 17 minutes to unpack your boxes.
Most of your things, you had discarded like a used Kleenex.

Not wanting to be reminded of who you once were.
Frail. Tender-skinned. Hallow-eyed. This is who you are now.

"I love you."
You whisper it almost inaudibly.
"I know." I respond.
"No," you insist, your strong will is showing."...I love you. As more than my friend, as my other half."
"I know." I repeat."I know, I've always known."

I barely feel the shift of weight on the couch, but you lean over,with the swiftness of a snail, and kiss me.
The first kiss, was the sweetest. Like a grape iceberg in the Summertime.
I took the liberty of carving the names of our great grand childreninto the underside of your tonsils with my tongue.

Moving away from each other, smiling, I administer one final kiss, this one to your forehead, and promise to be back tomorrow morning.
For the first time in 4 months, I smile, unforced. And happily walk home.
That night, i slept well.

September 13th, at 6:07a.m., I died inside.
Your mother awoke to discover you in your bed, sleeping peacefully.

Eternally.

I couldnt even gather myself enough to make it to your funeral. But later that day, I was sure to leave a bouquet of sunflowers on your grave, your favorite.
Finally making my way home, I toss myself on the bed, attempting to drown in the sea of covers.
I cannot go on without you.

That night, I formally introduced my right wrist to the rusted razor blade I found under the toilet.

Thus began, a monthly ritual...

It's been 9 years since you died, and the scars on my wrist finally have the audacity to heal.
I've finally managed to kiss my husband's lips enough to form them into the shape of yours.

And when we fuck, I've trained myself to automatically groan and callout his name, knowing full well you're the one on my mind.

My children, they all have your mischevious smile made of pearls.

And when they laugh, I can hear your heart beat.

Over the years, I've hidden the truth under my pillow case.

Unsent love letters addressed to you.
If these walls could talk, they'd confess for years.

Sometimes I still visit your grave, to replace dead sunflowers with those with life.
Hoping, someday, maybe you'd be replaced with life as well.
But until then, I wait.
Crying ballads into pillow cases that taste of memories we never made.

© Malix Mechü