“Yes, Harvard,” I said dryly. It was the first time I’d spoken to them in weeks. “You wanted me to go to college, and I’m going, so you should be happy.”
“Why Harvard, though? What happened to Yale?” Dad asked.
I didn’t say anything, but my mother’s face told me she knew. “It has to do with Taylor, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t answer, though I was surprised by how quickly she had guessed. I just left the kitchen and went back to my room.
I was going to Harvard because Taylor was my last link to Thiago. If we were at different universities in different states, I’d never know anything about the person I loved except for what his mother would tell me over the phone. And besides, Taylor helped numb my pain, helped me still feel Thiago close. I knew it was weird, maybe even wrong, but I didn’t care, and I didn’t care what anyone thought: not my parents, not Katia; it didn’t even matter what Thiago would have told me to do if he’d been conscious.
When it was time to leave, I packed my bags, despite my feelings of reluctance and disgust. It was emotionally draining to have to close doors I wasn’t ready to close yet, say goodbye to a family I hadn’t been kind to but that had supported me and helped me keep my head above water all those months.
I asked Katia to let me say goodbye.
My parents understood, and even she eventually agreed to let me see him one more time.
I barely recognized him. Over the spring and summer, he had grown so much thinner. Before, he’d looked like he was asleep. Now it looked as if he was fading away.
I didn’t sit beside him like I had done before. Now I stood at the foot of his bed. I observed him in silence, remembering how much I had prayed for him to open his eyes. As I stood there, I became awash in rage, rage fueled by all the pain I’d kept inside.
After a few minutes, I spoke, and my voice sounded unrecognizable. I let out all the things I’d been holding inside. I was furious, I started screaming at him, I wanted to hit him, to hurt him, I wanted him to feel the pain I’d felt when he left me all alone.
“How could you do this to me?” I began. “You promised me you’d be OK! You promised we’d be together! You promised you’d stay by my side, through good and bad! I begged you not to go! I told you to come with me! But no, you had to play the hero, and now look at you! How am I supposed to go on without you? How am I supposed to just go and live my life when I know you’re still here, breathing, maybe dreaming? Knowing that even if you’re not conscious, you still love me!”
I walked over to him, squeezed his hand, and fell to my knees. My rage died down, replaced by grief. I sobbed—no one could imagine what I was feeling just then, no one but him, perhaps.
“Come back to me, come back to me, please…” I pleaded, my tears filling the palm of his hand. “Come back to me, put an end tothis nightmare, make it end, please. I need you. I’ve always needed you; I’ve always loved you…even when I was little. Please, don’t leave me alone, don’t abandon me in this world full of hatred, fear, sorrow, and grief. Please come back.”
I don’t know how long I was there, crying. It felt like hours. All I know is I got the time I needed to say goodbye—the way I wanted to, the way I had to.
“I’m going to Harvard,” I said when I realized it was time to go, when I was tired of waiting for him to open his eyes. “They say I’ve got to get on with my life, but what they don’t understand is deep down I will never stop waiting for you. I love you, Thiago.”
I wiped a tear from my cheek and walked out of his room.
There was one thing I didn’t see: a slight movement of his ring finger after I had shut the door and left.
