The Illusion of Separation

When we got to Chris's house, I went straight to his room while Carter gathered Chris's mother and explained the situation to her, how I needed to be left alone for a bit and how he was so sorry for Chris's death. It was so cliche that I wanted to block my ears and fall asleep that way, but I couldn't seem to make myself move. Christofer's dad was out somewhere, which would be horrible if he was anywhere that didn't have to do with mourning Chris. His parents had been fighting lately so maybe this was the final straw and Chris's dad just needed to leave for a bit.

"She just needs to spend time with Chris's things for a bit," Carter told Christofer's mom, and I could hear her sniffling. She must have been crying all night. Her son, gone. She'd have to tell Hannah, David, and Sarah when they came home. Hannah had gone for some camping trip thing for the week with her whole class, and David was in college in California. Sarah had been sleeping over a friend's house and was supposed to come home any minute now. I didn't hang out much with Christofer's siblings but I knew that when the news came out, we were all going to hug and cry like we'd been best friends since the dawn of time. Sarah would be the one that cried the most, definitely. Hannah would probably cry more than I did, but not as much as Sarah. David...well, who knew what David would do. He was a boy, for one thing, and I didn't know him as well as his two sisters. Of course, I didn't know his sisters well, either, but I knew them more than David.

"I'm not sure whether to throw all of them out or keep them," Mrs. Ingle was saying with a broken voice. "I'd love to keep them all, to remember him, but there's going to be a time sooner or later when we're going to have to do something with them."

"I know, Miz Ingle. It's alright. We don't have to worry about it right now."

I got into Chris's bed. The covers were unmade; I wouldn't have expected anything different. A person would have expected his sheets and blankets and pillow and curtains to all have flashing peace signs on them or something, but his blanket and curtains were just a normal black color and his pillow was boring white, with what looked like a coffee stain near the top left corner. His room smelled like cologne and shampoo, which was really weird. I wouldn't have figured Christofer would be one to have a room smelling like it was actually clean, since he wasn't the most hygenic person in the world. He must have taken a shower last night before he came to my house, or sometime yesterday. An annual shower, I thought to myself, and cracked the smallest of smiles.

I wasn't ever bothered by Chris and his avoidance of showers or soap or anything that made him clean. When you're in love, and truly in love, you learn to embrace everything about that person. If Christofer was a clean freak, or even took a shower more than once a month, he wouldn't be Christofer Drew Ingle. He'd be Chris. That's it. One name, common as hell, and just another face in a crowd. But he wasn't. He was unique and special and mine.

I wrapped his blankets around myself and buried my face in them, smelling pot and more cologne. Holy hell. What had he done, bathed in it?

It felt good to lay here and pretend like he was still alive, like I was just sitting here waiting for him, like he'd pop in the door at any minute, slide into bed with me, and hold me in his arms the way he always does, making up songs as he thought of words. I put that thought in my mind and smiled at the visual I'd created for myself. That was it. Just keep thinking of Christofer and the good things and I'd be able to deal with this.

"I mean, all his instruments...it's going to hurt so much to even put them away at all..."

A breeze stirred throughout the room, which was weird because there were no windows open.

Save my uke, Hannah.

I bit down on my lip, hard. No, Hannah. Shut up. He's not here. If I started imagining stuff now, it was only going to hurt me later when I had to deal with the reality of Christofer's death. I couldn't be hearing voices or I'd go insane. Or else, the voices meant I was already insane.

Please, Hannah? Don't let her put it away. I love my uke.

Okay, this was seriously beginning to creep me out. Why would I be imagining stuff like this? Especially in a voice that sounded exactly like Chris's. I knew we'd spent a lot of time together, but I was hearing his voice like he was actually in the room with me. Was it always this vivid for people who didn't accept their loved ones' deaths and started hearing them?

I looked over at his ukulele, which was on a stand in the corner next to his three acoustic guitars. It was almost comical to see it besides its bigger, more complex counterparts like that. I got out of the bed and went to it, kneeling beside it and running my fingers over it lightly. I didn't want to press too hard; Chris went crazy when someone besides him marked up his instruments, me included. It was a bit hypocritical considering one of his guitars, which everyone who knew him called the "pray" guitar from the word PRAY on it, surrounded by dreams and hopes and lyrics and whatever else Chris was thinking of at the time, was nearly covered in Sharpie words, but I figured I'd understand if I ever got an instrument.

Yeah, Hannah. Keep that out, you know? Don't let it get put away.

"What about the pray guitar," I mumbled, ashamed to be speaking to the voice in my head.

There was silence for a few seconds. At first, I was grateful to know I wasn't crazy anymore, or at least not for right now, but then Chris's voice nearly exploded in my head. Hannah?! Hannah!! Can you hear me?! Can you see me?!

This time, I really did block my ears. I couldn't take this! Didn't God know I had enough to deal with right now and I didn't need Chris's voice asking me all this stuff like he was really there? Chris was dead. As much as I hated to think it, he was dead and he was never coming back. No matter what. I would have to live the rest of my life without him. What I was hearing was my own imagination, nothing more.

"Stop," I whispered.

I think I'm invisible or something. I'm not invisible to you, am I, Hannah?

No. No. No. Please, God, no.

That same hand from inside the car rested on my shoulder again, and Chris's voice was closer this time, softer. He was speaking from right behind my ear, his breath against my cheek. Hannah, please. I don't understand. What's happening? What's going on? Please just look at me, Hannah, please.

Against everything I was telling myself, I took my hands away from my ears and felt behind me. Chris's knee. His ripped skinny jeans. Farther up and I could feel the material of his shirt, although it was wet and cold and there was something thick on it, like...like...

Like blood was the first thing that came into my mind.

I traced my hand down his arm, across the skinny wrists, finally coming to his hand. And then I turned around.

"Oh, Chris," I cried, and melted into him, sobbing.

"Sh." He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me close, running his fingers through my hair and speaking into it. "You just stay here with me. We'll get everything figured out, sweetheart. We will."

Carter came in just then and stared at me as if I was crazy, which, until now, I'd been sure I was. "What's going on, Hannah?" he asked, compassion spilling into his voice as his face softened. "I was just talking with Chris's mom and I come in to see you hysterical on the floor."

I looked up. Chris was gone, and somehow I was lying on the floor, like he'd never been there at all.

"Chris," I whispered.

It was an answer to Carter's question. It was me calling for him, desperate for him to come back. It was the name of the demon that was haunting me, torturing me with visions of him that I still wasn't sure weren't real.

Carter came to me and sat beside me, bringing me into his arms instead. "Sh, Hannah. It's alright. I know it hurts. We're gonna get through this together, alright?"

"Chris," I said again, and this time it was more of a begging. Please come back. I can't do this without you. I need you here. I need to know that you were here in the first place. Please, I need to see you again.

I had to wait for a few minutes, but then I could see, through my tear-filled eyes, a flicker of him. Just a second long, but he was there, in front of me, holding my hand with one hand and touching Carter's knee sympathetically with the other, his eyes the saddest I had ever seen them. He looked so depressed that it hurt.

"Chris," I said one last time, and this time it was a sigh of relief as I closed my eyes and buried my face in Carter's chest.

Chris was here.