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"What's killing you?" They ask. "What's ailing you inside?" I hear them say.
"Nothing. I'm fine outside and in." I lied.
"You don't look right. Just tell us what's wrong." Everyone nags until I finally break down, in a way.
"Just stressed over tests and schoolwork." There's another lie.
I walk slowly home. I feel like I'm trudging through a thougsand pounds of sand up to my knees. The wind picks up. My hair blows wildly, and I just keep staring at my foot popping up, then the street, then my other foot.
I'm home, I get inside and sit down, I get a drink, then eye something on the shelf. I walk over to it, amd look at the fishtank sitting on the shelf next to the bottle. Drowning into thought and possibilities, I flash back to this past week....how empty I felt, sad, happy, then back down to sad....
Sitting down, the hours have gone by slowly. I think and think and think. I set my pencil down next to my paper and get up to grab an envelope. I fold the paper up and place it inside the envelope. I don't lick it closed, I set it down on the table. I sit back down. My head is feels light, my body numbing. I'm hanging on for as long as I can. I don't want to be found just in time, but at the last remaining second. Just long enough to say what I need to say. Long enough to get it all out. Tears form, and gently trickle down my cheeks. I get up, then sit somewhere else. I don't know how long I'll hold on. It could be seconds, minutes, or a few more hours. I lay down, the tears keep flowing lightly, and the gentle scratchyness from my dogs tongue is felt on my hand. I feel sleepy, very sleepy. I feel my breathing go from heavy to short, heavy short, heavy short. It keeps its pace, and is rapidly decrasing to a short gasp for air.
I'm not sure what comes next, but I'll know when it happens. I took one too many days for granted, and I'm being punished for it. My heart starts to hurt worse than before. I put my hand on it, it's barely got a beat. It's been like that for a while now, but this time it's serious. My eyes are heavier, I am utterly numb. Someone calls out to me and reaches their hand. This isn't real. I blink and try to look past it, I can see someone screaming my name and running to me. They shake me. Shake, scream, shake, scream, they just keep doing it. I weakly lift my hand up. They stop and watch in horror as I whisper, "Finish this for me." I point to the paper I've written. "Let them know." I say to them. They shake their head finally realizing what's going on. They understand, they don't try to stop me. The only one to understand what's wrong without me saying it. They look at me and grab my hand. We both cry for just a second. I remember suddenly, as a chill runs down my spine, "Tell him: I love him." And I relax myself.
The mysterious bottle is sitting next to my drink, with half missing. It's labeled 'itch medicine' for fish. It leaves a blue tint in my drink. It leaves a very bitter taste in my mouth.
She relaxed herself. And taking one last deep breath in, she let it out slowly and lets go of my hand. A small smile crosses her face, I can tell it's the first smile showing happiness she's had in years. It isn't a very big smile, just enough to show me how happy she finally was. I quietly stand up, and make a few phone calls. I tell everyone the same thing, "She's finally happy." I say. "She finally found a way out of everything." Every single person I tell understands. I finish the calls and set lay the phone down on the table, next to the pencil and envelope. The little one comes in, and asks what happened while she was taking a nap. "I have some bad news sweetie." She looks at me, scared. She had never been faced with what I'm about to tell her. 'She's only four years old. Please not yet.' I think.
"Sweetie, she had to go away. She won't be back. God had to take her in his arms and tell her that everything is okay now." She has tears in her eyes. She ran into the bedroom, and jumped on the bed. "She is not! You're lying!" I follow her. I don't want her to see. But she got there before I could catch her. She saw her lying there on the bed, cold and peaceful. She's in tears and she jumps on the bed and tries to waker her up. "Get up! Please!" I burst into tears and take her in my arms. "She can't leave now." We both sit there crying for a minute, and I take my last look at my friend laying there on the bed. I take the little one off the bed and we both stand there in silence. "You've had problems, we both know. You were always there for us, and we hope that He's there for you now. We love you so much." The little one and I grab her hand and kiss her cheek one last time. She had so much to give, but let everything get to her.
I couldn't do anything, and I didn't try to when I should have. I understood at that exact point it was time. It was her turn to fix her mistakes. She choose the way she wanted it fixed. Her very last words where picked from her heart. She did what any story would do, a cliche. Those last words were meant for someone special, but so many where special to her. I sit thinking, my head in my hands, thinking of who it could have possibly been to. It finally hits me. My heart swells, then breaks. I know who it was meant for, if he only knew. I realize how she felt when she talked about being broken. I put my hands to my heart, and feel the steady beat of it. "That was something she never felt." I whisper to myself. "I know now."
I wish I knew sooner. I wish I got here faster.
*Everyone makes mistakes, but the worst ones are the ones that break you slowly. For many, the mistakes can be fixed. For the few, there's only one way out of those mistakes you make. Which category you fall in depends on how you let your mistakes eat at you, until you can break no more.*
-Sometimes we just need a way out.
 nangal · Sat Sep 20, 2008 @ 12:01am · 0 Comments |
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