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Woke Up From Dreaming
I leaned out of my bedroom window, staring up at the sky. It was perfectly blue, not a cloud in view. It was never going to rain this week, to mask the tears running down my face. I could try to contain it, I guess.
I shook; with sobs? Or with fear of the ground below? So far... but so close. I felt like I could reach out and my fingers would brush against the cold cement. There were stains dotting the sidewalk, from water and gum. Businessmen and street performers alike hurried down it. The shapes of the black things in their hands blurred in my vision; a suitcase? A guitar? What were they?
I shut the window, nearly hitting the back of my neck. It wouldn't have made much of a difference in my life to break it... would it have? Stumbling back onto the tan carpet in my room, I caught myself on the dresser. My hand scraped against the corner of the sharp wood, cutting into my sweaty palms. Maybe it wasn't sweat. Had I wiped my eyes? Hm.
My hand now appeared crimson. It wasn't very clear, since tears disrupted my sight. My jeans became my towel, staining red at my thigh. More like a maroon, the original blue setting against the blood. I looked up at my blank white walls. Well, not blank; there was a small note... an orange Post-It.
It was a reminder to see Ryan a few weeks ago. Ryan at eleven, it read, elementary school.
We had met at the swings. I climbed on one silently, and he pushed me in the same manner. His hair was in his eyes, and I couldn't see his facial expression. I should have kissed him. Moved his hair away, seen his eyes. Tired eyes... miserable eyes... suicidal eyes.
Instead, I just smiled and laughed with him. He laughed back. Why didn't I hear the sadness in his voice? When he decided to follow me back home and sing me a lullaby as he held me in his arms... His grip was tight, as if he was scared he was losing me. It wasn't that, though; I was losing him.
He said he had to leave. I understood; it was almost two o'clock. He waved his hand as a goodbye, putting something on my table. He told me to read it when I woke up, and no earlier. He slipped out the window. I figured he was jumping down the fire escape. The next morning, I realized I was wrong.
Waking, I grasped the note in my weak fingers, wondering what he had written in his neat cursive handwriting I longed to form with my pen.
I love you, but I have to leave. The coronary report should read exactly two in the morning. Don't expect anything else. I'm sorry.
I had rushed to the window, of course, holding back tears. It couldn't be true. He was just kidding... a joke. To my horror, however, there was a small crowd of police and paramedics hovering underneath my window. There was yellow tape blocking off a small square of concrete, where there was a long black tarp covering a bumpy shape. A body. Ryan.
I screamed at that moment, calling the attention of an officer. He looked at me funny, then turned back to his coworker. An ambulance was parked there, and the driver stood outside, waiting for Ryan. To take him away. Take him away from me.
I fled downstairs, flinging myself out of the front door and knocking aside a paramedic as I ripped away the tape and knelt to the ground. I was sobbing... I remember.
He regained his balance and pulled me up. "Miss, this is a-"
"I know what it is!" I had shrieked. "Let me see him! One more time!"
Then it had faded into black. I fainted, I guess. From shock, grief, sadness... In one emotion. Ryan would decide to call it shiefness.
He was right about the coronary report. Two in the morning, exactly. My mom told me... It's a miracle that I heard her through my bursts of crying. Maybe not bursts, though; a long chain of sobs.
I blinked at my wall, coming back to the present. I tore the note off of my wall, ripping it in my hands. Ryan, I thought, come back.
I dreamed about Ryan... We were back at the school, at the base of the slide. His arms were around me, and his eyes were closed; for the whole dream. I could only see the thick line of black surrounding them. His hands were delicately at my waist, and his head was resting on mine, which was on his shoulder.
The soft wood chips underneath us were crunching as he shifted to press his mouth to mine. His kiss seemed harsh and forced. Or was it me? Was I too desperate for him? He was dead. Gone... forever.
Shuddering, I poked my head out of the window. The street was clear, illuminated by the dim orange glow of streetlights and stars. I climbed out slightly, sitting on the edge. I gripped the window tightly, sticking my bare feet out into the cold night air. I glanced back into my bedroom, swallowing. The lights were off, and my clothes were all neatly placed on the bed. I decided not to leave a note, since Ryan's had left me so much pain. Or maybe it was the fact that he killed himself, not the note itself. I may never find out... unless I found him now.
I looked up at the sky, a tear sliding down my cheek. "Ryan, I love you."
Taking a deep breath - possibly my last - I jumped.