My world has changed because of you. I look at life differently. My immunity to pain is a million times greater than it was before you left me. Thinking of all of it makes me sick; my stomach knots; my heart sinks; my throat closes. It’s as physically painful as it is mentally. Your smile is a sweet memory but in my mind I picture terrifying flames consuming its sweetness.  Sometimes I can feel the heat from the fire that greedily stole the oxygen from your needy lungs. Then I think about what I was doing while you were slowly dying, gasping for air. I was lying in the sun with our friends, floating in a river of cool, refreshing water. I was simply enjoying the celebration of my 15th birthday. Sometimes I think that God purposely waited a day for me to find out, so that I could celebrate my birthday without guilt or resentment for the last time, or maybe it was you that did the intervening, since you knew how important my birthday was to me. I remember being happy and feeling so free that day. I felt as if nothing could touch my happiness, but it wasn’t until the next day, May 27th, that I had come face to face with the darkest and loneliest emotion that a person could ever feel: loss. I was simply taking a bath, preparing for a family gathering to celebrate my birthday, when I got the call.

“Antonio is dead. He was in a house fire..”

I hung up the phone. I stared at my feet. I concentrated on the droplets of water falling from the faucet as my heart slowly shattered and then all at once fell from my chest into a consuming and never-ending hole. I pulled my shaking knees into my chest as sobs rippled through me and blackness blurred my vision. I sat that way, paralyzed, until my sister came into the bathroom. She stared at me for a second in all of my nakedness and then pulled me out of the tub and covered me with a towel. So much of me was exposed in every way possible but none of it mattered to me. I was so consumed with pain that I wanted to die. Somehow I ended up in my room, a heaping mess upon my bed. I don’t know how much time passed as I layed there, but eventually my mother came in, asking to at least make an appearance to my own birthday party. I had forgotten that there were even people in the world, much less people in my house waiting to celebrate the fact that I was born years ago. Suddenly I felt hatred toward every person who came expecting to see me smiling and gratefully opening insignificant gifts. They were probably all waiting for me to suck it up and make a damn appearance at sickening party. I finally gathered myself and walked to the front room where everyone was gathered. “I’m sorry for your loss” was all anyone seemed to be able to say to me (I hate that saying. It’s almost robotic. All I seem to hear is the ‘your’ part of it, making me feel alone and disconnected. ) After they were done with their obligations of reminding me of how terrible I felt, they continued on with their day. They all laughed and joked, while I sat by myself on the couch deeply in thought of my short-lived friend. No one seemed to care that fifteen years is not enough time on this earth.