Normally, I name things before I write them so I stay on track as I go, but I’m not gonna do that this time.
I don’t remember the day of the week it was. Maybe a Thursday night? I don’t know. I seem to have blocked it out of my head. But I was on vacation, and I got a call from my best friend. She told me she was gonna call, which instantly told me something was wrong. She never calls unless something is wrong.
The second it started ringing, I answered. I could tell she’d been crying. I left the hotel room, hooked a right, and stood by the elevators, looking out the window at the distant city lights. Her voice, cold and hollow, asked me how my day was. I didn’t want to answer. I just wanted to know what happened.
A set of elevators opened, and a security guard walked off. He started knocking on a door nearby. There was no answer. After a few tries, he went to the phone and called for support. Wanting silence, I moved to the other end of the hall, by the window that overlooked the pool.
People below laughed and chatted. Kids frolicked and splashed. The billowing water looked like navy silk. And all the while, not a single one noticed me 13 stories above, the girl on the phone looking down at them in order to focus her mind so she could somehow comprehend the fact that her best friend’s boyfriend had just died.
He was 21 years old, hit by a car as he crossed the street. I had eaten dinner with the two of them just the night before — my first time meeting him, actually. He was genuine, truly very kind. When I left our meal, I couldn’t stop thinking about how awesome it was going to be to hang out with them again. Funny how things change.
My best friend was on the line for an hour, maybe more. I felt like it was too short of a time, but she wanted to go. I didn’t blame her. She spent the whole time trying to hold back her tears so she could talk about it and attempt to explain all that she was feeling. I never even asked her to do so. She just did, all on her own. She even said a few times that the only thing she wanted was to forget. I couldn’t believe she felt that already.
I thought it was good that she was handling it well. I, personally, would have been a blubbering mess, but she was strong, only occasionally bursting into incomprehensible sobs. It blew my mind.
But while I admired this, I was also concerned. She needed to let her feelings out — to cry, to grieve, to mourn — for doing so was healthy. Good. Necessary.
Well, it’s been a few weeks since then, and I still can’t comprehend that it happened. Neither can she. She fluctuates from sad to content to angry, and she has all the reason to. He was too young, and it was too soon. It just doesn’t seem fair that he’s gone.
I wish we could know why this happened, but we can’t. I like to think that one day we will, but then again, who knows. Maybe it’s just another thing we all have to learn to live with.
And that is all. Now you know a little more about why I haven’t been posting as much lately. Hopefully none of you mind.
Have a blessed night.