D.O.A (And Then Some)

Darwin's funeral was a few days after I was released from the hospital. It was closed-casket, and his mother wouldn’t stop crying on my shoulder. I was seated between Mary and my mother, my father and Steve on the other side of the women.

I sat through the service in a numb state, just observing from an outsider’s point of view. My eyes stung from the unshed tears.

As Darwin was lowered into the ground, several people gave their condolences. They blurred together, and their pity was starting to sound the same; just a bunch of mumbles and whines trying to be heard simultaneously. It was making my head pound incessantly.

It was eerily quiet when I got home.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be alone, sweetheart,” Mom had tried, gripping my hand to make me stay.

“Mom, I’m exhausted.”

“I know, sweetie. But… just in case?”

There were dishes in the sink and the milk had probably expired, but the only thing I could think about was how nice a nap would be right about now.

Trying to take a nap was actually quite unnatural. Normally, Darwin would jabber away while I tried to fall asleep. More often than not, it relaxed me to the point where I could sleep soundly. He liked talking about space travel, and stars, and everything beyond the Earth and more. Without the dull drone of Darwin’s facts (or hopes) of life outside the Earth, even with my exhaustion pushing at my mind, it took me more than twenty minutes to fall asleep.

The next morning didn’t feel right. There wasn’t an innocent gaze waiting for me when I woke up, or a firm grip of my shoulders to get me moving and ready for a fantastic day. There was nothing but an empty bed beside me. I stayed under the covers for a little longer before getting up.

I dressed and headed downstairs, not really knowing what to do with myself. I felt heavy, and slow, and everything was just off. I looked out the sliding glass door, noticing Darwin’s soccer ball still in the middle of the yard, waiting for someone to come and kick it around.

I did a one-two step before my feet carried me outside.

At first, I could only find it in me to tap it back and forth between my feet. I was lethargic, unwilling to move myself any faster than at a snail’s pace.

“You’re doing it all wrong, Sahara,” he laughed. “You have to be quick. Like a bunny!”

I kicked the ball harshly across the yard and jogged over to it, picking up speed to keep the ball moving and under control.

By the time the bugs got to be too much, I was breathing heavily. But I felt a little better. I left the ball where I found it, lingering at the backdoor for a moment before shutting it.

After, I sat in the living room with the movie Darwin wanted me to see; the one with Kevin Spacey as E.T. or something. I was checked out, scrolling through the last texts Darwin and I shared.

I came across a picture of him, holding a Coca-Cola bottle next to his face with the caption, “Look!! Mexican Coke!!”

That alone had me in tears. Happy and sad.

Darwin had been shopping at the supermarket, alone, and he found a display of glass Coca-Cola bottles with the label “Mexican Coke.” He spent the next two hours on the phone with me, laughing about what he thought it had meant.

“Coke. Get it? Cocaine. The Mexican kind.”

When he got home, he took one look at me before breaking down into a fit of giggles. He kept reiterating the word “cocaine” like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard before.