THE THINGS THAT BONDS ARE MADE OF
“I’ve been coming to visit you after school every day since you were first admitted. Yeah, all 167 days. I thought it was difficult having to face the mobs of sympathizers constantly asking me about you. Like, every day. But I never imagined how much more painful it’d be when they stopped asking. What does that mean, you know? Have they given up? Lost hope? Are they just waiting around for the day I don’t show up for class because...you know? God! It makes me so angry just thinking about it!
“What’s worse is that I feel different today. I can’t explain it, but something’s definitely different. And I’m panicking, freaking out that maybe I’m beginning to lose my grip on you. And I don’t want to—I swear! You and I are the sisters we never had. Nothing can change that. I’m fighting for you. And I won’t stop.
“Remember before your grandma passed away? You got so scared toward the end that you were starting to get used to it. You told me you thought that maybe after so long our hearts force themselves to do that. Like some defense tactic. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t know if that’s even what’s happening, or if it’s just a thought that’s throwing me off because I’m aware that something like that can even happen with someone you love so much.
“But I promise, Colby, I’ll never let that feeling take over. And when you do wake up—and you will—we’re going to wreak havoc like we always have. I miss that, by the way.
“O.M.G.! Do you know what I found the other day? You’re going to freak! I started crying so much that my left contact fell out of my eye and I had to drive with only one until my mom could order me a new pair. And you knoooow how gross I look with glasses! Like, so not pretty. So what I found was that first note you ever wrote me! The one from Ms. Sofia’s class, the second day of third grade. Remember? The giant, neon-pink bubble letters with the tiny hearts on every angle of every letter?
“Yeah, I know. I never remember those kinds of details. But I remember this like it was yesterday. Maybe our minds go into a different emotional state when we’re mourning. We sort of transcend our everyday capabilities. You think? Anyway, I brought it.
I unfold the heart-shaped folded note, edges frayed and weak from years of storage. “So you wrote ….”
Hi Simone! My name’s Colby. Your hair is SO curly. I like it a lot! It looks like my dog’s. Nana. I love her a lot so that’s a good thing. I’m new here. I just moved from Chicago. You look really nice. Nana’s nice too. Wanna be friends?
“I cried and laughed and snorted all at the same time because it was so you. The way you go right for whatever you want, when you want it. And talk about no filter. You do know you compared me to a dog, right?”
I glance up at the clock. 6:45. It’s getting late and my crazed, overprotective mom has called me five times. She knows I’m here but she still decides to call me a million times. And then she leaves voicemails. Mind you – she knows I never listen to them. Like, ever.
I walk over to the window and see an elated husband wheeling out his wife and new baby from the hospital’s main atrium. I have to stifle the urge to cry.
I dial out to my mom. “Hey.”
“Honey, I was worried! Where are you? Are you okay?”
