But it's not really living if you’re already dead, because in a way I died too.
I lost the only family I had.
I have nothing.
I’d just turned eighteen, ready to graduate high school and move to college to study Literature, the only thing that I’ve ever wanted to do, but after they died it didn’t seem so important to me anymore. After they died, I had no desire to go anymore, and I was dead set against going altogether, but one day I woke up and realised that I couldn’t let them down.
The only thing that kept me going, and still does, is that I want to make them proud. To show that their love and the sacrifices they made for me weren’t for nothing. They spent their lives making sure I had everything I needed, and I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t, and for that I’ll always be grateful.
I miss them so much. I never anticipated that all those nights I spent talking to my mom about unimportant, trivial things would become so meaningful, a time I wish I could go back to. I even wish I could go back and argue with my dad over something stupid, just for another chance to see him again.
I wish I could go back and tell them both how much I love them, just one last time.
I clutch the framed photograph against my chest, as a stray tear trickles its way down my cheek before setting it back in the box.
I roll up the wad of cash and tie it together with an elastic band and bury it at the bottom. I take one last look at the photograph before replacing the lid and pushing it back under my bed and try to forget that I ever saw that picture.
It’s still raw, their loss too painful. Seeing that photograph has brought all those painful memories racing to the surface from the place that I tried to bury them.
One day, I hope I can look back through old photographs of us and it not hurt so much, but today is not that day.
That day is still alongway off.
Chapter 2
Dwight
Three years.
Three years I’ve been gone, and it only seems like yesterday.
Everything looks exactly the same as when I left, thougheverythinghas changed. Driving through the familiar streets, memories of what used to be just about everywhere I look, the ghost of her everywhere, memories flooding in as I drove past the little coffee shop where we had our first date all those years ago, our old picnic spot beside a tall oak tree in the park where I kissed her for the first time.
Even after I left, I couldn’t escape the memories, the ties that bind me to this city. I couldn’t outrun the crippling grief, the guilt that I thought I’d leave behind once I crossed the city limits, instead, it followed me across the other side of the country. It was like a constant grey cloud that hung over my head, reminding me of what I lost.
I throw my bags over my shoulder, grab my suitcases, and make my way up to the house. My heart is pounding in my chest. I set them down and I don’t even get to ring the doorbell before the door flies open and Logan is standing there with the biggest smile on his face.
“Damn, is it good to see you, brother,” he says.
“Hey, Logan.”
“Come on in. Oh, let me help you,” he reaches down to grab my suitcases, and helps carry them inside.
After I left, and it was clear I wasn’t coming back any time soon, the house that I shared with Grace was sold, the furniture and Grace’s clothes given away to charity, and the rest of my stuff shipped out to me, putting the final nail into that part of my life.
When I called Logan to say I was coming back, he offered for me to stay a while, the move back was sudden, and finding my own place so soon was just not an option.
I follow Logan into the sitting room where I set down my bags on the ground, and he places my suitcases down and turns to me. He stands looking at me for a moment before something snaps inside of him and he breaks out into a wide smile.
“Come here, fucker!” He closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms. “Man, I’ve missed you so fucking much! It’s so good to see you.”
Logan was the only one who truly understood why I had to leave all those years ago after Grace’s death. Granted, I’d only planned for it to be a few weeks, not three years, but either way, Logan supported me. This is the first time I’ve seen him since I left, and I’d forgotten how much he looks like her. Of course we’ve talked on the phone since then, but it’s so surreal to be standing in front of him right now. Standing here in his arms, it’s something I didn’t know I needed.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I fight them back. “Good to see you too,” I say.
“The spare room’s yours, though the only covers I could find at last minute have huge pink flowers all over them.” He doesn’t sound the slightest bit apologetic as a smile creeps its way up to his face.
I let out a laugh. “The couch would have sufficed.”
