Amazing, Because It Is.

A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. - Steward Alsop.

It was closure I wanted, and so it would be closure I would get.

I borrowed my mom’s car, spewing fluidly without skipping a beat a cleverly fabricated story about ‘road tripping with the girls for the weekend’, our ‘game plan’ explained in full-detail. Since when did lying become such second nature to me?

Alex agreed to tag along, and I couldn’t fathom why, since he was four-square against the trip. It wasn’t as if I cared about his reason for coming. I was just glad that he was. He even managed to distract me the whole car ride, so much so that I almost forgot why I was making this pilgrimage to my childhood home.

However, even Alex couldn’t protect me the moment realization hit. I pulled into the driveway, and that’s when I started second-guessing myself; my reasoning for being there.

Of course Alex was right. Of course this was going to hurt more than help.

But it was too late. Now that I was here, there was no turning back.

- - -
“Are you alright?” Alex asked, his tone wary as he laid a careful hand on my shoulder, which tingled all over.

I stared intently at the oak tree that had been mine and Jeremy’s alone. I was wondering how. How could Jeremy have possibly died at seventeen without leaving any unfinished business behind? If that was really what kept people on earth after they died, then why wasn’t Jeremy here right now? Shouldn’t he be?

I knew he had unfinished business here on earth. I just knew.

Because he hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye. Neither of us had. He had been denied the ultimate closure prior to his untimely death. He deserved that chance.

The foreign, burning feeling of tears began, pressing against my eyes, fighting their way to the surface. I bit my lip, trying in a futile attempt to hold them back.

“Let’s go.”

I drove aimlessly, with no destination point in mind. But if you believe in fate, then you can probably guess where I ended up. Maybe I found my way there on purpose, or maybe it was really meant to be. Either way, it felt like someone had punched me square in the stomach. I pulled shakily over to the shoulder, cutting the engine and laying my head gently on the steering wheel.

The tree was the largest indication to me of where I was. It was scarred, ruined. And the guardrail on the side of the road – indented. Dead flowers, deflated balloons, cards that had bled their color in the rain – all reminders of what had transpired.

My older brother, my comforter, my protector, my best friend, had taken his final breath here, in this very spot.

I lost it. Alex pulled me into his arms, which I was hysterical enough to not even notice, and I sobbed. Deep, heart-wrenching sobs. It probably sounded as if someone was murdering me. If only.

I wasn’t sure how long we were there. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours – all I knew was that I had to get awaybefore I found something sharp and ended it.

So, as a means of self-preservation alone, I pulled it together enough to navigate to an old, hole-in-the-wall café I used to walk to sometimes after school, to drink coffee that tasted terribly to my teenaged senses, and to pretend that I was more sophisticated than I really felt.

It was a wonder the place didn’t close down, honestly. But there forever were and forever would be a myriad of scattered patrons who visited religiously. They were the ‘tortured soul’ types, who didn’t give a damn how bad the coffee; how stale the Danish. Instead, they were more focused on appearing moody and brooding in the corner, reading Dickens and Bronte, intent on seeming intelligent.

Alex and I chose a secluded table in the back of the café, our motive having to do with garnering some sort of privacy. Well, that was my motive entirely. I still had slight reservations about people seeing me talk to myself. I shouldn’t have cared. But I did.

“I’m sorry,” he frowned, after a long bout of thick, oppressive silence.

“For what?” I breathed softly, peering at him inquisitively underneath coal black eyelashes that clumped together with tears and mascara. I probably looked like an absolute mess.

“Well…that he wasn’t there,” he sighed heavily, his chocolate brown eyes spelling out inexplicable guilt. I wanted – no, needed – to take that look out of his eyes.

“Alex, it wasn’t your fault,” I insisted, reaching across the table and covering his balled up fists with my hands. The familiar tingle zipped through my arms, and I welcomed it like an old friend. My hands were warmed from the sides of my coffee mug and his would never feel warmth again. The thought was simply depressing.

“I know,” he admitted, averting his gaze to a girl with black lipstick and a tattered copy of ‘A Million Little Pieces’. Ironic, both she and the author were posers. “I just…I don’t like to see you hurt like that,” he said the last part quietly, so quietly I almost had to have him repeat himself.