At the End of the Road

It was quiet. We were lying in bed and it was quiet. It was one of the few times where we were absolutely silent, just reveling in each other's presence. We should have been sleeping seeing as it was nearing two o'clock in the morning, but it was as if we couldn't sleep. We both wanted to stay awake and listen to each other's respective breathing. And maybe if one of us fell asleep the other would watch them as they slept. Not in a creepy way, but in a way to know they're still breathing and would keep living. There wasn't a death sentence on either of us. It was just nice to know nothing was wrong.

That was all I could think about – him dying. Would he die first or would I go first? We weren't married or anything, but we were definitely committed. We lived in a house together and we shared bills. That was commitment. We exchanged “I love you”s and we talked about the future. I knew he was it for me. We were committed. So it wasn't weird or naïve of me to think about what would happen when one of us dies. Or who would go first. It was kind of morbid to think about, but it was something that plenty of people in relationships thought about when they were deeply in love. And I was deeply in love.

Neither one of us were looking at the other. We just lied there, staring at the ceiling of our bedroom. We moved in together a little over a year before. He was the one who proposed the idea and I gladly agreed. I was living in an apartment with a roommate, who at first was just a roommate but turned into one of my best friends. He was living with two of his best friends at the time as well. It took us all of three weeks to find the perfect little house for the two of us. It was a one story, three bedroom house on a cul-de-sac. Our backyard had many tall, full, trees and lush, green grass. We had a porch swing and we had blue shutters. It was perfect for the two of us.

The more I thought about what would happen at the end of the road, the more upset I got. I loved him too much to want to go on without him. Everyone who thinks about who would rather go first would want to go first themselves. It upset me to think about what would happen if he left first. I would be absolutely torn up. To even think that had me near tears. I tried to stop, but I couldn't.

My legs were pressed up against his as we lied in bed. It was something I did during the night. I had to feel him there when he was there. I had to make sure he wasn't leaving. At first it annoyed him, but he learned to accept one of my habits and after a while he gladly accepted the feel of my legs on his. I never used to be like that, but after he started leaving for months at a time I would miss him dearly and when he returned home, I didn't want to let him out of my sight. I had to feel him whenever I could, I had to know he was there. He knew this.

So when I moved my legs away from his, he knew something was wrong. I brought the comforter up over my head and just lied there. I heard the rustling of the covers and felt the mattress shift. Soon enough, he was right there underneath the comforter with me. His eyes were on me, but he wasn't saying anything. I wouldn't look at him and I knew that was bugging him. He could usually get me to look at him just by him looking at me.

Finally, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across my cheek, “Hey,” He said softly and as much as I didn't want to, I turned and locked eyes with him, “what's wrong?” His thumb brushed over my other cheek and he lightly grasped onto the back of my neck while gently resting his palm on my face.

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath through my nose. Tears were surfacing behind my eyelids, stinging my eyes, “It's stupid.” I opened my watery eyes and tried to smile, but all I got was a failed attempt.

He frowned, “It's obviously not if you're crying about it. What's wrong? What's going on in that pretty little head of yours, Amberleigh? You were fine when we went to bed.”

My legs were pressed against his again. I needed to be as close to him as I possibly could. The closer I got to him, the further his arm wrapped itself around my neck. It wasn't long before I was inches away from his face and he was practically hugging me. “Tell me what's wrong.” He whispered.

“I'm just thinking.” I said.

His fingers were resting on the shoulder I was lying on, gently grazing my skin, “What are you thinking about?”

“About what's going to happen at the end of the road.” I opened my eyes and was met with a pair of confused, blue eyes.

“What do you mean? What road are you talking about?” I didn't want to talk about it anymore because it was stupid. It was stupid how worked up I was getting over it. We were barely in our early twenties and here I was thinking about what was going to happen when we die in fifty-someodd years.

“I'm thinking about what's going to happen when one of us dies, Garrett.” It was finally out in the open. I brought my hand up to my face and wiped at my tears.

His hand stopped grazing my shoulder and he was quiet. I knew it was stupid to bring it up. He probably thought I was dumb. I was dumb.

“I told you it was stupid.” I mumbled, still wiping at my cheeks.

His expression changed. It was like he finally realized what was happening and he got caught up with everything going on. “No, it's not stupid. It's a reasonable thing to think about, Leigh.” I gave him a look and he chuckled, “Tell me why it got you so worked up.”

I sniffed just as his fingers started moving against my skin again, “I was thinking about what would happen if you went before I did. Then I started thinking about how much it would suck. I mean, dying sucks in general, but being without someone you love – not being able to see them when you want – that sucks even more. I wouldn't be able to hear your voice and I wouldn't be able to laugh at your corny jokes. What am I supposed to to when I need to get something down from the cupboard above the refrigerator? It just sucks.”

“Well,” He began, “you'll just have to get a chair to reach the cupboard above the refrigerator.” I slapped his chest and he laughed,”Okay, in all seriousness, it's definitely going to suck when the end of the road comes. I wouldn't want to go on without you either, but knowing how much it would hurt you if I were to die first makes me want you to go first just so you won't have to live through that pain. I would gladly take the pain myself than have you have to go on without me. You already live without me when I'm on tour, so you living without me because I'm dead is just cruel.”

A new set of tears came at his words. I looked into his eyes and sniffed, “Can we just die at the same time?” I asked, helplessly and he laughed.

“Yes, we'll have to come up with a suicide pact in the morning.” He wrapped both of his arms around my shoulders and brought me into his chest while he smiled. His lips pressed into my brown hair and he let out a whispered “I love you.”

I lifted my head and pressed a kiss on his adam's apple, “I love you, too. So much.” I responded.

“Good.” He said, “Now, let's go to sleep; it's getting late.” His body was snuggling deeper into the sheets and our roles were suddenly reversed. His head lay under my chin, in my neck while mine rested atop of his. My lips pressed into his messy hair just like his had previously and his pressed onto my pulse point.

The thought of the end of the road was sitting there, but it didn't scare me as much as it did before our conversation. I, hopefully, wouldn't have to worry about it until the very distant future. And even when the day does come, I knew that I would be okay to some extent, because he had loved me.