No New Messages

“Hey…it’s me…I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight…call me back when you can.”

Hey you.

I never deleted that voicemail. Yes, I know I should have. Maybe I’ll delete it tomorrow. Maybe not.

That was the last voicemail you ever left me…or left anybody for that matter.

9:36 PM.

At 10:08, they found your car.

I will never know what happened for sure that night but I sure think about it a lot. You used to try to explain to me that you think in poems so I try to do that too when I think of you. You’re the one who taught me all about things like similes and metaphors and all that English class junk that made your eyes light up.

I don’t know what happened August 19 but I sure think about it a lot. You probably left the house sometime in the evening, you were probably wearing your favorite scarf, and you probably smelled like cologne.

Sometimes I can’t sleep at night because I wonder how parallel our thoughts were. When you were taking your very last breaths, I was doing laundry. My phone was upstairs plugged into the wall outlet to charge. I wonder what was going through my phone at the exact moment you left us, I had no idea. I had no idea my world had changed forever while I was separating sweaters from linens.

I brought your mom flowers the other day. She invited me in and made us coffee and we sat together for a long time. Neither of us said much, we mostly just sat and thought. But when my own mom finally called to tell me to come home, we hugged and I said I’d come back soon to talk again and she agreed. We’re both hurting a lot without you here.

I’ve been trying so hard to learn how to write well for you but it’s not working out too much yet. I’m taking all these books out of the library that promise to teach me how to be a great writer. You’d crack up if you saw me holding a stack of books the size of textbooks. Actually, the first time I went to go look at those books was the first time I’d ever been to the library without you. It felt lonely. You promised to dedicate your first book to me but instead I’m going to dedicate my first good poem to you and maybe I’ll send it in to a magazine or something. But right now all I have is this letter, I hope it’s a good start.

I didn’t remind you that I love you maybe as much as I should have but I know you knew it. And right now I miss you way more than I know how to express. Not having you here hurts a lot.

Sometimes I go to bed wearing your sweatshirt or cologne and everything feels okay again. I’m working on how to make things feel that way more often again.

Join the Discussion

This article has 1 comment. Post your own now!

Brittany1996 said...
Feb. 11, 2013 at 2:04 am
This is a great personal expirence, and I love how you started it. The only thing that would make it better is if you would "show" the reader parts of the expirence, instead of just "tell" through out the whole story. Showing instead of telling helps bring the reader into the story.
bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback