Fake Plastic Trees.

But it was a measure of my self worth, an invisible tape wrapped around my middle to calculate exactly how I felt. That was how literal it was, how I felt on the inside. I don’t remember ever having a reason, even though people say that I did. People said that I was lying. People said that I’m a bullshitter who was just starving for attention. That’s my brother. He told me that what I was doing to myself was just so I’d get people to notice me.

That’s not what I wanted.

I wanted to disappear—be so tiny that maybe I’d slip through a crack in the floorboards. It didn’t work at first, people kept asking me the damn fucking number and what the hell my secret was to keeping it down. I didn’t have one. I just didn’t put anything in or out of my body.

That went on for awhile and I’m not just talking days—months is more like it, years even. I can’t even remember when it started, but... I don’t really want to. It hurts; it hurts so damn fucking much to just think about it. The pain of abandonment, of denial... the tears, the scars, the goddamn everything. It just hurt. It still does.

Nevermind, I lied. I do know, remember why and when and how and who and... I just wish I’d forget. But I can’t. I could never forget him.

It wasn’t love that caused that. It was friendship and a damn good one that made me cry because it was falling apart. We loved each other platonically and we both knew that was it. It hurt so much that he left. My views on life, my views on others... my entire world just fell apart. And it was because of me, all because of me. It was all my fault.

“I hope you’re happy, Mikes.”

My eyes flicker and open a crack. They’re cemented shut with dried up sleep and I want to lift my arm to wipe it away, but I can’t because it’s too heavy... it’s too hard. I want to open my mouth to reply to whoever had just spoken to me, but I couldn’t say anything. There was something in my throat.

There’s a bitter laugh, then some sniffling. “God, I—fuck, fuck! If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask!”

I couldn’t recognise the voice. I want to open my eyes. I want to talk, to scream, to tell the person to shut the fuck up and stop feeling sorry for me. Why should anyone feel sorry for me?

“Look what I’ve made you do, you... you fucking asshole! How could you do this to yourself?! To ME?!”

Another voice. “It’s not your fault, Frank—”

Frank?

“Yes it is!” he screams, his voice wet with tears. My god, I’ve made him cry. “It’s all my fucking fault! I’m the reason why he’s here! I’m the fucking goddamn reason why he’s done this to himself!” I felt my arm being lifted and warm fingers circling around my upper arm. “Look at this! My fingers touch around his arm! You think I don’t know? Open your goddamn eyes, Gerard, look at what I’ve done!” I felt something rest on my stomach. “Oh my god... what have I done.”

I never knew that he cared this much. I hear footsteps and then a door click shut. Then, the sobs of a boy.

“Remember, Mikes,” he starts with, a sad smile playing through the lines of his tone. “Remember when we were in grade five and we’d throw those rocks we found at Ms Helens’ butt? Remember? And then only I got detention because you were the fucking good kid?”

In my head, I smiled. Because I did. I did remember.

“But then you stayed after school with me until I was allowed to leave.” I can still hear the smile in his voice. “I remember that.”

I don’t say anything. I want to. I want to tell him that I remember too. That I’ve never forgotten. But I don’t. Mostly because I can’t.

“And remember the next year, in grade six? I got braces and you thought they were the coolest things ever? Remember? And you felt bad that I couldn’t eat everything I wanted to because it hurt too much to open my mouth and chew, so you spent the whole lunch hour taking apart my sandwich so I could?”

Another sniffle. “You... do you remember?”

I can’t say anything. I want to cry. I want to stop. I want to eat. I want to make him stop crying. I want... I want to be happy. I want to feel happy. I miss being happy.

“Please Mikey... Mikey, say something. I know you’re tired and I know you’re sedated and I know you’re dying, but please. Fucking Christ, please. You can’t... you can’t leave me here alone! I can’t go on alone...”

‘Don’t believe his bullshit. He left you,’ something tells me. ‘He left you alone. All by yourself. Remember? He left. You didn’t. You wanted to keep what you had, but he wasn’t happy. Wasn’t happy with you. All your fault.’

I just want to sleep. I don’t give any response back to Frank’s pleads because I’m tired. I want to tell him that I can hear him, I can feel his heart beat through his chest and into mine. That he gives me the life I’ve been waiting for.

“Please. Show me the person that I’ve known for all my life is still alive. I don’t want to see you like this anymore—I’ve watched you.” I’m tempted to open my eyes at this point. He went on. “I watched you every day and I saw you get smaller and smaller and thinner and skinnier and... it scared me. It scared me, thinking that I had something to do with it. And I remember always telling myself that it wasn’t, that none of what was happening was my fault.

“But I knew it was. All of it was. I missed you, so much. I missed your laugh, your smile, your consistent love... you, Mikes. I missed you. And when I left you for those other people, I didn’t hear your laugh or see your smile or feel your love. And—”

His voice was wet with tears. I could hear the hot sticky mess that radiated through it. I want to wipe them away. I want to jump out of this scene and be happy. I miss being happy.

“I’m so fucking sorry. My god, I’m sorry and—I’m going to help you. I’m going to come here, every day, and talk to you. I’ll give up everything just to be by your side because... you’re too important to me to just throw away.”

My eyes move back and forth underneath my eyelids. I can tell he’s watching.

“I need you, Mikes. You made me realize the best of me. Them? The people I hang out with now? They’re nothing. Just a bunch of party buddies that don’t know when to leave me alone.

“But you... I felt alive with you. You’re the kind of person I can actually be myself around and not pretend to be this stupid jocked up asshole that gets whatever he wants whenever he asks for fuck all. I miss that. I’m not happy. I miss you. I miss you so much.”

I guess I never realized that he actually noticed. He actually cared. He actually noticed me.

“Don’t die, Mikey. You can’t, because I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you.”

And that’s when I force my eyes open. The first thing I see is him. His mouth slacks open and his eyes begin to water. ‘No!’ something screams at me. ‘You can’t do that! You can’t let them know that—’

“You’re alive.”

I look at him, the boy talking into my stomach. I flick my vision downwards, so it meets his. And I crack the smallest smile I can muster.

“It feels good.”

Silence. Complete silence. Because neither of us know what to say. It’s not awkward. It’s not comfortable. It’s just there. He opens his mouth and turns his head to look straight into my sore eyes.

“Did you hear anything I said?”

I’m almost compelled to tell the truth. Or to lie. ‘Lie,’ it tells me. ‘Lie to him. You were sedated, you were asleep, you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up—’

“Yeah.”

Frank looked up at me, his eyes shining and lifts his head off my abdomen. I wish he hadn’t. I don’t say anything to stop him, because I don’t want to seem needy.

“I’m... gonna go get a nurse. She’ll do something all hospital like ‘cause I know fuck all.”

I don’t know what I’m saying. The voice is gagged, shut up deep inside of a box I’ve found in the crevices of my mind. I blurt out his name to catch his attention, because I want to tell him something. I need to tell him something.

“I love you.”

His head snaps towards me as he gets up. His hazel wells up with tears, making them shine even brighter than when they’re alone. They’re happy. He’s happy. I know this because I remember.

“I love you too.”

Frank takes one last look at me, smiling, before he quickly turns and runs out the door. I can hear him screaming happy things with an ecstatic voice.

“He’s alive! He’s awake! Nurse! Oh my fuck! He’s alive!”

I can hear him, I can feel him, I can love him. A strange sound comes pouring out of my throat. It’s a laugh. A small one, but it surprises me. I find the strength and pull up my hand to my mouth. And the tears start. I haven’t had this feeling in a long time. The feeling that I’ve wanted for awhile now.

Instead of wiping them away, I let them fall. I let myself sob and my eyes clench shut. I don’t want to die anymore. I’ve given up—I’ve given in. I finally feel... happy. Because he’s noticed. Because he’s always noticed. Because he loves me.

For the first time in what feels like years, I smile.