Single Moments
Five of Six
Time of death: 4:16 AM. May 16th, 2013.
Joe fell to the floor when they said he was gone. He just broke down and cried like he'd never cried before. He didn't care who stared at him or how stupid he must have looked, he just cried his heart out Matt was really gone. Forever. Though he'd known it for weeks, it felt too soon. He didn't want to have to plan a funeral, he didn't want to face the fact that he was gone. "Matt," he sobbed over and over as a nurse tried to console him. "Matt."
The nurse handed him an envelope with his name on it. "He told me to give you this," he said solemnly. Joe took it with shaky hands, swallowing hard.
"T-thank you," he whispered, taking the note. He didn't open it - he had a feeling whatever it said was private. He wiped his face off, snuffling to clear his nose and blinked his bloodshot eyes.
As sad as he was, there was some feeling of relief. Matt didn't have to fight anymore, and he could leave the hospital. He just wished he'd gotten to say a final goodbye.
Home was empty. Joe shoved the front door open and trudged into his dark bedroom, the one him and Matt had shared. He opened the dresser and buried his face in a shirt that smelled like Matt - that Matt would never wear again, a dull colored sports jersey. Crying into the shirt, he wanted so badly just to be with Matt one more time. He dropped the jersey onto the floor and headed blindly for the bathroom. In the shower, he turned the water up as hot as he could stand it. It sizzled and burned into his skin, but he just let it roll off him and tried not to scream. Tears mixed with the hot water rolling down his face and off of him. He breathed in deeply so the steam could clear his nose.
He stepped out of the shower - which really had only been to compose himself - and stumbled back into the bedroom. He pulled Matt's shirt over his head and pulled his knees to his chest as he slid down to a seated position, breathing in the smell. He'd never smell it again.
Suddenly, he remembered the note he'd been given earlier. He scrambled widly to his feet and made a mad dash for the bathroom, almost slipping on the wet tile. Frantically, he picked his sweater up off the floor and pulled out the envelope in the front pocket, tearing it open. Should he dare hope? A loose leaf piece of paper was inside. Trembling, he unfolded it carefully and muttered the words to himself as he read Matt's quirky handwriting.
Joe,
If you're reading this, I guess I'm gone, huh? You're asleep right now, in one of the family rooms down the hall. I haven't slept in hours. There's some things I want you to hear later, or now I guess, when you get this note.
Joe, by now I've accepted the fact that I'm going to die. But after I'm gone, you need to accept it, too. Don't forget about me, but don't be sad. It's only for the best. I can't tell you how grateful I am for you, for staying with me through all this. No one else would do what you did for me. You didn't need to, but that's why I love you so much. A few days before I'm writing this, you came back in the morning with a black eye. I was so upset that you were hurt. You shouldn't have gone that far, Joe.
Joe sighed as he remembered that night, glaring at the words through his tears. It was painful and rough, but he didn't regret doing it. Right now he'd do anything for Matt, to have him back.
But now I sound like a parent. But you did do it, and I can't thank you enough for that. You gave me the best years of my life.
And, Joe, I don't want you to ever give up music. You think no one wants you, but you're amazing with a guitar and a microphone. Music is what brought us together, please don't let it go. Keep it alive - for me, if anything.
I want you to keep living and loving. Get a boyfriend and make him as happy as you made me. Show him the same love. Make him and yourself happy. I won't mind. Take him to Europe and Spain and all the places we wanted to go. Don't hold back because of me - ever.
Joe could taste blood on his lip from biting it so hard. He tried to imagine Matt, lying on his bed, writing this. Something fell out of the envelope and landed at his feet. He tore his eyes away from the letter for a moment, and picked up a photograph. It was a very aged photograph, and the ink was fading, but Joe could make it out clearly. Him and Matt standing together backstage. Matt with his arm over Joe's shoulder and their faces close to the camera, both of them smiling genuinely. Joe remembered that night. Written on a lighter spot in Sharpie was the message, "I love you, rockstar. Remember this night?"
He absent-mindedly flipped the photo over. In faded blue ink, there was a date. October 2nd, 2009. The night they had met. He gulped and set the picture aside for a moment, going back to the letter.
I'm going to give this note to the nurse next week, so he can give it to you at the right time. In three weeks, I'm going to be dead. Wow. I'm scared.
Beleive me when I tell you that you're amazing, and you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.
And I love you. And I'm sorry.
Love, Matthew Wolk.
April 23rd, 2013.
Joe fell to the floor when they said he was gone. He just broke down and cried like he'd never cried before. He didn't care who stared at him or how stupid he must have looked, he just cried his heart out Matt was really gone. Forever. Though he'd known it for weeks, it felt too soon. He didn't want to have to plan a funeral, he didn't want to face the fact that he was gone. "Matt," he sobbed over and over as a nurse tried to console him. "Matt."
The nurse handed him an envelope with his name on it. "He told me to give you this," he said solemnly. Joe took it with shaky hands, swallowing hard.
"T-thank you," he whispered, taking the note. He didn't open it - he had a feeling whatever it said was private. He wiped his face off, snuffling to clear his nose and blinked his bloodshot eyes.
As sad as he was, there was some feeling of relief. Matt didn't have to fight anymore, and he could leave the hospital. He just wished he'd gotten to say a final goodbye.
Home was empty. Joe shoved the front door open and trudged into his dark bedroom, the one him and Matt had shared. He opened the dresser and buried his face in a shirt that smelled like Matt - that Matt would never wear again, a dull colored sports jersey. Crying into the shirt, he wanted so badly just to be with Matt one more time. He dropped the jersey onto the floor and headed blindly for the bathroom. In the shower, he turned the water up as hot as he could stand it. It sizzled and burned into his skin, but he just let it roll off him and tried not to scream. Tears mixed with the hot water rolling down his face and off of him. He breathed in deeply so the steam could clear his nose.
He stepped out of the shower - which really had only been to compose himself - and stumbled back into the bedroom. He pulled Matt's shirt over his head and pulled his knees to his chest as he slid down to a seated position, breathing in the smell. He'd never smell it again.
Suddenly, he remembered the note he'd been given earlier. He scrambled widly to his feet and made a mad dash for the bathroom, almost slipping on the wet tile. Frantically, he picked his sweater up off the floor and pulled out the envelope in the front pocket, tearing it open. Should he dare hope? A loose leaf piece of paper was inside. Trembling, he unfolded it carefully and muttered the words to himself as he read Matt's quirky handwriting.
Joe,
If you're reading this, I guess I'm gone, huh? You're asleep right now, in one of the family rooms down the hall. I haven't slept in hours. There's some things I want you to hear later, or now I guess, when you get this note.
Joe, by now I've accepted the fact that I'm going to die. But after I'm gone, you need to accept it, too. Don't forget about me, but don't be sad. It's only for the best. I can't tell you how grateful I am for you, for staying with me through all this. No one else would do what you did for me. You didn't need to, but that's why I love you so much. A few days before I'm writing this, you came back in the morning with a black eye. I was so upset that you were hurt. You shouldn't have gone that far, Joe.
Joe sighed as he remembered that night, glaring at the words through his tears. It was painful and rough, but he didn't regret doing it. Right now he'd do anything for Matt, to have him back.
But now I sound like a parent. But you did do it, and I can't thank you enough for that. You gave me the best years of my life.
And, Joe, I don't want you to ever give up music. You think no one wants you, but you're amazing with a guitar and a microphone. Music is what brought us together, please don't let it go. Keep it alive - for me, if anything.
I want you to keep living and loving. Get a boyfriend and make him as happy as you made me. Show him the same love. Make him and yourself happy. I won't mind. Take him to Europe and Spain and all the places we wanted to go. Don't hold back because of me - ever.
Joe could taste blood on his lip from biting it so hard. He tried to imagine Matt, lying on his bed, writing this. Something fell out of the envelope and landed at his feet. He tore his eyes away from the letter for a moment, and picked up a photograph. It was a very aged photograph, and the ink was fading, but Joe could make it out clearly. Him and Matt standing together backstage. Matt with his arm over Joe's shoulder and their faces close to the camera, both of them smiling genuinely. Joe remembered that night. Written on a lighter spot in Sharpie was the message, "I love you, rockstar. Remember this night?"
He absent-mindedly flipped the photo over. In faded blue ink, there was a date. October 2nd, 2009. The night they had met. He gulped and set the picture aside for a moment, going back to the letter.
I'm going to give this note to the nurse next week, so he can give it to you at the right time. In three weeks, I'm going to be dead. Wow. I'm scared.
Beleive me when I tell you that you're amazing, and you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.
And I love you. And I'm sorry.
Love, Matthew Wolk.
April 23rd, 2013.