Please Don't Forgive Me

From the time that I moved to Tempe when I was seven, Garrett Nickelsen had been one of my best friends. We were the dynamic duo and we were inseparable. We took the same electives and sat together in the back of the class making snide remarks about the teachers—especially Mr. Calverton who had been there since sometime around World War II. Garrett was always there for me. He was there when my mom got sick, when my dog died, and when my first boyfriend broke my heart. He could never do anything to wrong me.

Garrett had always loved music and he always said he would be in a band. He had made friends and eventually they got together with a line-up that would stick, and I was excited for him. I befriended the guys and I went to practices. I supported him in it all—even when he said he was leaving for an entire summer to do Warped Tour. I simply promised him that I would go to the home show—and if I had money any within an acceptable distance—and hugged him for what seemed like an hour.

After The Maine’s apparent success at Warped, they recorded and set out to do a headlining tour. They would finally have their name in lights and get more of the exposure and credit that they truly deserved. I again hugged my best friend long enough to get through two months without him and bid him farewell. I wished him luck and waved him goodbye as he got on the bus.

When they were gone we were in contact most of the time through email and text messaging. The technology made it seem almost as if I still had my best friend sitting beside me watching House DVD’s on a Friday night. I could almost imagine him waking me up on a Saturday morning by pouring a cup of cold water on my face because I was ‘so sound asleep that I might be dead.’

Thanks to technology, Garrett was the first to know when I disappeared. He was the first to realize that I couldn’t use my phone, that I was trapped and in harm’s way. He knew something was wrong from miles away, even if he didn’t know what.

The truth was, Garrett knew something was wrong even before I did. And Garrett knew he could find me when everyone else was about to give up hope—even my parents. After seemingly vanishing into thin air for almost two weeks, he didn't assume me dead. He knew I was alive, he said, because he would have felt it if I wasn't. I was his best friend, his other half, and if I was dead, he certainly would have felt as if he were too.

He was the reason they found me, broken, starved, and bruised as I may have been. He was the only reason that they found me alive.