I Hope You Know

She loved his lips. For as long as they had known each other, nothing was more captivating about his physical features than those lips. She remembers the first time they kissed. She wasn’t sure why she had been so nervous. As she recalls it, her heart felt as if it had some sort of grudge against her ribcage, it was beating so hard. But it wasn’t fear, it was the heart flipping, stomach churning sensation of a first love. The kind that engulfs your mind, body, and thoughts, where the fear of falling is ever present, but when you don’t fall the adrenalin, the rush, the feeling after is one you can’t explain. You feel protected, safe.

They kissed down under the pier. It was their first summer out of high school. It was a tradition to anyone who lived nearby to pack up their car, or their parents, drive to the shore, and celebrate the end of the school year at the local fair. It was awkward and clumsy, the sounds and lights were distracting them, the cool spray of the ocean dampening their jeans. Their lips connected, tongues entered sloppily, and they broke apart each wearing the glow of a first kiss, the glow of love.

They spent every moment of that summer together, sharing laughs, kisses, making memories. They had a future planned out, they were going to be artists, open a gallery together, and maybe even raise some children. As the summer soon ended, the plans changed. He started a band to ease his demons. She went off to art school. They promised to stay in contact, and they did at first.

His demons were too big to control. His band becoming more successful with every new fan, he broke off contact from his past. It was him, and the music. Play a show a night, write some more lyrics, and trying to drown in pills, drugs, and alcohol. Art was going fantastic, better than she ever thought. Her gallery showing opened tonight. She called him and it went straight to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message.

It’s been a few years. She’s heard he’s cleaned up. He’s heard she joined a band. They decided to meet up on one of the tours. He stepped off the bus, his cheekbones had hollowed out, his walk weak. You could see his ribs even through his shirt and heavy jacket. As he saw her, his lips upturned into this grotesque thing that resembled a grin. It looked nothing like his smile before.

They talked and decided to go on tour together. He felt the first love again, his performance improved. He was safe, for the first time since high school he felt protected. He loved her eyes. “Let’s get married” Her expression showed shock, her eyes showed joy. The ceremony was held later that month. As they kissed, with just their friends nearby, they both remembered that summer. “I love you” she breathed into his mouth.

Their plan finally started up again. He got back into art, she helped him with his comic. Both their music improved, they moved into their own house. Just them, together, perfectly. She found out she was pregnant. He will never forget the happiness in her eyes at that moment. He smiled, a real smile, they were going to have a family. They created something together, something much more than music, or art. They had created love.

The baby was born. And it grew, like any child grows. She was a beautiful child, and her parents never let her forget. “Don’t smoke around the baby,” she said as she saw the cigarette between his lips. “Fine, I’ll go outside.” Eventually, the child became a young woman. She was accepted into the same art school as her mother, and had the voice of her father. It was painful seeing her leave, they stood there, holding each other. He looked into her eyes, tears had formed. He started crying too.

The daughter visited every chance she could, though her mother still reminded him, “Don’t smoke around the baby.” ‘I’m not a baby mom’ She hated how the cigarette looked between his lips. How he inhales so deeply and then spews the smoke out. All the good things run from his body in fear while he takes another deep lungful of black. Soon the white will turn to grey. And the grey will turn to black.

He starts to lose his hair long after they started the treatment. His once black hair now just wisps of blonde on his mostly bald head. He can’t walk anymore. The strength has left his feet; he can’t lift his leg and move it to the next spot. She has taken the job of dressing him and undressing him; showering him; sometimes even feeding him. She pushes him around in his wheelchair.

His breath comes in gasps. He looks at her as if to say, come closer. His lips are so chapped. Blood oozes from the cracks. As she moves closer, he goes into a coughing fit. When it is over, he asks her with his eyes to continue coming closer. Her ear is almost pressed against his lips, now. “Remember this: no matter how talented you are, no matter how smart you are, no matter how nice or horrible you are, we all die alone.” The monitor flat lines. She is left besides him, staring into his mouth.