A Friend of Mine
Letting Go
“About time the Christmas deccies went up, I think,” Benjamin said, startling Juliana as she left her bedroom. He was stood by his own bedroom door, the door shut tight. Juliana hadn’t gone in since she threw herself down onto his bed, sobbing, after getting that news early one morning. “Come on, I’m not having any of this moping around lark.”
For a dead man, Benjamin was awfully convincing. With just a disgruntled sigh, Juliana shuffled to the broom cupboard and got the decorations down. The first Christmas they’d spent together, Benjamin had gone all out—a habit he’d acquired from the grandmother that raised him back in Southend. While he cared very little for the religious aspect of the holiday, the bringing together of people, family and friends or otherwise, gave him an almost incomprehensible amount of satisfaction. That and tinsel, apparently.
Juliana sat on the living-room floor, untangling the fairy lights that Benjamin had haphazardly put away the year before. Decorating, naturally, had always been Benjamin’s thing—Juliana preferred to sit on her arse—but everything felt oddly reversed this year. She leaned back, looking at where Benjamin was perched on the couch, cheek squashed against the arm of the chair as he watched on.
“What am I gonnae do without you this year, eh?” she said, eyes dropping back to the mess of wires in her lap. “Cannae be just sittin’ about on ma tod, can I?”
“Well,” Benjamin began, then grumbled, turning over onto his back, “I’m sure Kath wouldn’t mind a visit. Or there’s that girl you were in the foster home with? Emma, right?”
Her name was Emma. They’d been as close as sisters for years, but adulthood, like it often did, kept them apart. Up until Benjamin’s death, Juliana hadn’t heard from Emma for almost a year. She’d seen the news about a nurse being murdered, she said over the phone, and had been horrified to find out who it was. Your Ben, she had called him. Your poor Ben.
“I don’t know,” Juliana sighed. “Emma’s got a family now and Kath—it just wouldn’t be right without you there.”
Benjamin gave his signature sad smile then got to his feet. “Come on,” he said, “I’ve got a snow globe in my room. I reckon it needs to go on the mantelpiece.”
Juliana stilled where she knelt, twisting a wire around her finger. She didn’t want to go into Benjamin’s room again. She didn’t want to touch any of his things. Despite being as thick as thieves, that had always been his space, and she’d always had hers. It felt wrong—treacherous, even. She didn’t want to go.
Still, she got to her feet and followed him.
“You know you’re going to have to sort through all this eventually,” Benjamin said, stepping inside his room and having a look around, hands on his hips. Juliana stood on the threshold, blinking at his usual chaos. “Neither of us need it anymore.”
Juliana’s eyes locked on a photo on Benjamin’s nightstand. It was a picture of the two of them, tongues out and covered in glow in the dark paint. She smiled as she made her way towards it, said, “Are you giving me a lecture in letting go? When you can’t even let go yourself?” She picked up the picture frame as she perched herself down on his bed, Benjamin soon following her. She shivered. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is very fair, I’d say,” Benjamin said. Juliana ran her thumb over the smiling Benjamin staring back at her from behind the glass. “But you’re right. I can’t live vicariously through you forever. I need to let go, and so do you.” There was a pause. “Snow globe’s on the window sill.”
For a dead man, Benjamin was awfully convincing. With just a disgruntled sigh, Juliana shuffled to the broom cupboard and got the decorations down. The first Christmas they’d spent together, Benjamin had gone all out—a habit he’d acquired from the grandmother that raised him back in Southend. While he cared very little for the religious aspect of the holiday, the bringing together of people, family and friends or otherwise, gave him an almost incomprehensible amount of satisfaction. That and tinsel, apparently.
Juliana sat on the living-room floor, untangling the fairy lights that Benjamin had haphazardly put away the year before. Decorating, naturally, had always been Benjamin’s thing—Juliana preferred to sit on her arse—but everything felt oddly reversed this year. She leaned back, looking at where Benjamin was perched on the couch, cheek squashed against the arm of the chair as he watched on.
“What am I gonnae do without you this year, eh?” she said, eyes dropping back to the mess of wires in her lap. “Cannae be just sittin’ about on ma tod, can I?”
“Well,” Benjamin began, then grumbled, turning over onto his back, “I’m sure Kath wouldn’t mind a visit. Or there’s that girl you were in the foster home with? Emma, right?”
Her name was Emma. They’d been as close as sisters for years, but adulthood, like it often did, kept them apart. Up until Benjamin’s death, Juliana hadn’t heard from Emma for almost a year. She’d seen the news about a nurse being murdered, she said over the phone, and had been horrified to find out who it was. Your Ben, she had called him. Your poor Ben.
“I don’t know,” Juliana sighed. “Emma’s got a family now and Kath—it just wouldn’t be right without you there.”
Benjamin gave his signature sad smile then got to his feet. “Come on,” he said, “I’ve got a snow globe in my room. I reckon it needs to go on the mantelpiece.”
Juliana stilled where she knelt, twisting a wire around her finger. She didn’t want to go into Benjamin’s room again. She didn’t want to touch any of his things. Despite being as thick as thieves, that had always been his space, and she’d always had hers. It felt wrong—treacherous, even. She didn’t want to go.
Still, she got to her feet and followed him.
“You know you’re going to have to sort through all this eventually,” Benjamin said, stepping inside his room and having a look around, hands on his hips. Juliana stood on the threshold, blinking at his usual chaos. “Neither of us need it anymore.”
Juliana’s eyes locked on a photo on Benjamin’s nightstand. It was a picture of the two of them, tongues out and covered in glow in the dark paint. She smiled as she made her way towards it, said, “Are you giving me a lecture in letting go? When you can’t even let go yourself?” She picked up the picture frame as she perched herself down on his bed, Benjamin soon following her. She shivered. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is very fair, I’d say,” Benjamin said. Juliana ran her thumb over the smiling Benjamin staring back at her from behind the glass. “But you’re right. I can’t live vicariously through you forever. I need to let go, and so do you.” There was a pause. “Snow globe’s on the window sill.”