Watching You

The most painful part of death wasn’t the impact of my body on the ground. It wasn’t the air whipping by me, stinging my open eyes with dust and tiny rocks and tears and cold. It wasn’t my soul leaving my body. The most painful part of death has been sitting here, watching you live.

Yeah, I’m here. Since the moment I first opened my eyes after hitting the ground, I have been at home. I can’t leave the house, but I don’t need to, anyway. Death puts a lot into perspective, and here’s one of the many things I’ve learned so far: Everything I have ever needed or wanted is right here, with you.

ONE DAY

Every single death wish I ever uttered or wrote or thought evaporated the moment I had to watch you get the news that I was dead, I committed suicide, I’m gone. It just slipped out of me. At that moment, the need to touch you was worse than the need to die ever was.

I don’t know why I killed myself. I had so much to live for.

I thought it was all a dream, at first. My eyes opened and there I was, laying in bed. I could hear you in the kitchen, singing at the top of your lungs, like you always did when you thought I wasn’t listening. I closed my eyes for a second, relishing the dream -- fuck, it was so vivid, the wind rushing past my ears, the people screaming, the ground coming closer and closer. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and walked into the kitchen.

You were standing against the counter, and I walked over, meaning to slap your ass and spin you around like I always did, but my hand went through your body. It felt like flicking a candle flame, you know, faint heat, a sense of solidity. And you didn’t move. Didn’t react. Kept singing, singing, and I stood there, my heart beating fast. I couldn’t move.

The phone rang.

I could see the conversation go from normal to the end by the looks on your face.

“Hi, Nick!” You said, cheery like always, smiling, your lips shiny and your teeth sparkling. My shiny girl, I used to say to you. My shine.

“Nick? Nick, what is it? What… Nick, are you crying? Nick!” By now you were yelling, your classically trained voice jumping random octaves in fright.

“Joe? Is it Joe? Nick… what happened to… Nick!” A long pause. He must have said something, though I can’t imagine what.

“Nick. Did something happen to Joe?”

By now, I knew why that dream was so real. Slowly, my mouth working, I walked over to you. I was standing right in front of you when Nick first told you I was dead.

We both started screaming at the same time.

ONE WEEK

Nick and Kevin are here enough, taking care of you. I know Nick’s mad at me, but every time he comes in the door and stays still for a moment, I kiss his cheek. Something I never would have done when I was alive, but now it just feels like the right thing to do. They’re here, my notebooks and books and golden records are here, but most of all -- you’re here.

TWO WEEKS

I don’t think you’re getting any better. You put on a brave face when Nick and Kevin are around, but it never lasts long. I’m tired of hearing you cry. Because I can’t comfort you. I can’t hold you. I can’t cry with you. Sometimes I stand in front of you and scream, scream, scream… still, all you do is cry. The worst part is that I know it’s all my fault. All my fault.

You’ve always been one of those people to talk through your tears, and lately, I’ve been listening like I never did when I was alive. Something you ask a lot is why. Why, Joe, why, why. Why couldn’t you talk to me? Why couldn’t you talk to me? Why were you so hurt? Why wasn’t I enough?
Each why would be a stab to my heart, if it was still beating.

Why?

I don’t know.

1 MONTH

I can’t cry and there’s no spit in my mouth to swallow. When I look in the bathroom mirror, I’m a faded outline. I can’t touch or really feel, unless I’m putting my hand through your body, and that’s just a dull warmth. I don’t let myself do it often, because it usually makes you cry and always makes you shiver.

All I can really do is think. And I’d rather be in blinding, constant agony that keep thinking and regretting like this. Day in, day out. I can’t sleep but I can kind of fall into a stupor for a few hours, which is what I do when you aren’t home.

It’s the same thoughts, over and over again. The same regrets, memories, wishes, needs, wants. You know I hate monotony. And this is eternal.

THREE MONTHS

I just want you to know that you haven’t spent a night alone since I died. I’m always in bed with you -- always. I answer your questions when you speak into the darkness. Sometimes, I think you hear my answers.

You stopped praying when you turned 18 and so did I. As soon as our contracts ended, we promised no one would ever control our thoughts again. But you’ve tried to pray a few times at Nick’s constant urging since I left, though it usually ends with “fuck this” instead of “amen”. I think you know that it doesn’t make a difference. I’m no closer to a truth about a God than I was when I was alive.

You don’t have to pray in order for me to hear you. I’m always listening.

SIX MONTHS

You’re picking yourself up, bit by bit. Tears are still frequent, as is wearing my clothes around, but ever since you came home with the bag from the pharmacy, you’ve been singing again. Sometimes you’ll fall asleep at night without talking to me. I don’t mind, because you always whisper goodnight, Joe, no matter what.

And I’m proud of you. I used to think I was tied to you for eternity, or at least until you died, but lately, my faded snapshot reflection has been fading, and when I touch you, you don’t cry anymore. You just freeze a little. And once, when I slapped your ass like I used to, you smiled.

So did I.

1 YEAR

I used to regret my life but now I regret my death. I finally realized what you always told me - you have a lot, Joe. Someday you’ll be able to open your eyes. And I finally did. My eyes are open now, Demi, and I can see the smile starting to return to your face, the shine back to your lips, teeth, eyes.

You’re gonna make it, baby. You’re gonna make it like I never did - like I never could. And I think… I think as soon as you’re finally okay, I’ll really be gone.

But I can wait. I’m okay just watching for now.