“Who, son?” Then he sighed. “You’ve had a traumatic experience. It’s playing mind games with you. Skye left almost three years ago, remember.” His grip tightened on my hand. “Ryleigh is...” he trailed off, is expression sudden uncertainty.
As if summoned by his words, Ryleigh came up beside him. “Hey,” she greeted, her face crumpled in remorse.
My mind refused to focus on her because everything abruptly fell into place and immediate dread crept over me. “Where’s Griffin?”
Dad stared at me, his suddenly glazed eyes already telling me something I didn’t want to hear. He closed both his hands around mine. “I’m sorry, son.”
I shook my head. “No,” it was a whisper before it became a shout. “No!” Over and over, I yelled until Dad leaned over me and hugged my shaking body. I pushed against him but for once, my father showed me his real strength. Holding onto me until I deflated, until my voice sank to a whisper, until I broke. Until I cried like a fucking pussy against his shoulder.
For Griffin, the brother I’d loved and lost.
For the son I’d lost before I had a chance to love.
And ultimately for Skye, my lost love.
As if she called to me, I looked over my father’s shoulder and stared at the glass panel that separated my room from the hallway outside. My body went still as her face took shape within my watery vision. “Blue.” I whispered, hoping she’d hear me. I closed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. When I opened them again, she was gone.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew I’d become what I feared. A fully broken man.
If only I could heal...
32. Right Here Waiting For You – Richard Marx
Shay – 33 years; Skye21 years
Hands in my pants pockets, I stood there staring at the ground, debating what to say. A surprising first. When it came to my best friend, no matter the day, the time, the function, we always found something to discuss. Now, I felt like a stranger standing here, lost for words.
“Hey, bro,” I started with the easiest before dropping to the soft grass.
Sitting cross-legged, I stared at the fresh flowers someone had placed there recently. Probably Sarah or Jim. It had been two months since Griffin left me, them and I hadn’t seen them yet. I knew they were waiting to meet me, wanting to know if he’d suffered. Most parents did. I thumbed the single tear I chose not to stop from falling.
“Sorry I missed your funeral,” I choked out, emotion tightening my chest. It killed me a little more that I couldn’t make it back stateside to see them lay my best fucking friend to rest.
“The doctor called me stubborn, can you believe that? Said I was refusing to heal. I wonder the fuck why.” I stared across the rows of white crosses, all neat lines fit for a soldier. “Even in death there is precision for us,” I laughed, knowing Griffin would’ve found that funny. “So, therapy sucks. I sit in a fucking room for an hour every day, talking about feelings and shit. I don’t think the meds work either. At least the nightmares have stopped.” Only if I took the pills. “Whiskey helps better. Yeah, yeah, I know, not the answer but it works faster.” I laughed, imagining him giving me the third for resorting to drinking when I should be facing this shit head on. The tears fell then. “I miss you, Griff.” I dropped my head into my hand.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, letting my emotions get the better of me when I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, young man. He’s in a better place now.” Lifting my head, I stared at the old woman smiling down at me. “Your friend?” she asked, tipping her chin at Griffin’s cross.
