Waiting

I remember the hollow sound of the phone line
as if it were
the twinkling jewelry box song that played next to my crib as a baby.
The emptiness holds the same familiarity
as a hymn I’d grown up singing or the ding of my own doorbell.
I remember attempting the 30-minute drive home.
The screams coming from my body
and exploding into my car
were howls of desperation
that I’d never conceived could rise from a human being.
Where are these noises coming from?
What is going on?
I’d ask of myself in the seconds when my cries couldn’t drown-out my sanity.
Drowning, I was - sinking into a blackout.
And I had no desire to stop myself.
I clung to her X-box:
the only item I had of hers in my car at the time.
I clung to the plastic like her skin was draped around it.
Like her scent would tickle my nose if I held it close enough.
Like she’d be coming back for it
any minute
and I’d be holding on
ready for her to take me away.
I remember the phone calls, texts, voicemails:
telling me how sorry everyone felt
not to blame myself
and that I’d be ok.
I’m never gonna be ok.

I remember the night before the funeral.
I slept on the floor next to her bed
curled into a tiny ball in the pitch-black stillness.
I remember my arm aching from holding it up
so my hand could gently stroke “her side” of the comforter.
I remember the beige carpet
soaked under my face
scratching at my tired eyes.
How am I supposed to do this without you?
I remember the funeral.
My face constantly pulled into random shoulders.
I remember our promise ring on her finger:
how huge it looked over her tiny knuckle.
I remember the desperation I felt as they closed her in for good.
She can’t breathe in there!
I screamed internally through the entire service.
I remember hands rubbing my back
sympathetic stares from all around me
hearing one of our songs played
and
waiting for her silly sing-a-long to find my ears.
I think that song was the last thing I heard for a long while.

I know I cleaned her apartment:
sorted and donated her things.
Found the box she’d left me with
“To my Bunni”
written on the side.
Thanks, bubba, for packaging it all so nicely.
I filled my bedroom with everything
– hers, mine, & ours –
and existed in our bubble.
I have no recollection of time.
I know it was winter.
I’m sure there were days when I never left that room.
I know I had classes.
I have no idea what they were.
I know I went out.
I don’t know how anyone could stand to be around me.
I smoked cigarettes
ate nothing but hot tamales
and drank coffee like water.
I honestly believe I was just waiting around till I got to join her.
Whether I drank myself to death
starved myself to death
or slept until my death...
I blacked out and waited for my baby.

For the longest time, I talked to her.
I talked about her like she’d just left for a little while.
Very matter-of-factly:
I acted as though I’d be seeing her shortly.
I didn’t reminisce on the good ole days.
I don’t remember really looking at pictures or telling old stories.
I just waited for her.

Then I woke up in Florida
– one whole year later –
interning for the Most Magical Place on Earth
and finally realizing:
she’s never coming back.