Missing You

He was pathetic. He was drunk. He was a goddamn calamity if you ever had seen one.

Still, no one could really blame him. Jessica Briggs was the closest you could get to being a saint: smart, wise in her all-knowing kind of way. Truthful, faithful, never ready to step on anyone’s toes so she could get what she wanted – what she deserved.

Jessica Briggs was damn near perfect before her death.

And no one could blame John O’Callaghan for losing it after losing her.

He stumbled down the pier, staring out at the ocean with hazy eyes and tight lips. A breeze pulled at his tee shirt as his crusted eyes fell over the reflection of the moonlight against the choppy water’s surface.

He missed her more than he could express. The longing of holding her in his arms hurt his heart, tugged at all of his internal organs. Everything felt so raw, so impossibly tender.

But John knew, even with the buzzing of alcohol in his bloodstream, that it was time for him to do this. He’d driven all the way from his hometown to hers to visit her favorite spot. He knew, even against his heart’s pleads not to, that it was time to let her go, to give her and himself the freedom they both deserved.

He stared out for one last, long moment at the waves, the moonlight and the stars before he reached into his back pocket.

John withdrew the box that he’d never had the chance to open to her and flicked it open one last time. Inside sat the ring that he was more than certain Jessica would have loved: square-cut, simple, elegant, set in white gold. She would’ve gone crazy for it.

Letting a single tear roll down his cheek, he pulled out the picture Jessica’s mother had taken: a classic couple shot of the two of them hugging and smiling brightly at the camera, so young and so in love.

With a quick motion, John rolled the photo up and placed the ring around it.

But he hesitated, allowing a sob to take him and uncertainty to settle over him. His heart was ripping away. He could feel it shredding and bleeding, knowing that what he was about to do would be permanent. He would never be able to get the ring back, just as he would never be able to get Jessica back.

But John knew he had to and when that moment of clarity struck him, he wound back his right arm and threw the ring and photo as far as he could out into the ocean.

It disappeared into the depths of the shadows and darkness, succumbing to the waves just as John O’Callaghan succumbed to the pain of the situation. He sobbed to himself on the pier until he could no more, until the pain washed away with the ring and photograph.

And just as he was ready to go, to wobble weakly and soberly back to his car and back to his life, he felt it – the ghost of her lips pressing lightly against his cheekbone, her simple way of saying, “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”