In Between Sweater Sleeves

Chapter Twenty: Bittersweet Reality

Chapter Twenty: Bittersweet Reality

Two months, a freaking two months half Misha didn’t say one word to me. Not a hi, hey, or hello, nothing, nothing at all. I stopped trying after a week. It was like I didn’t exist, like there was nothing there at all. Like we hadn’t spent the last three months stuck together, like we didn’t have classes together, and like I never knew Misha wait. Not being friends with Misha Wate hurt like hell.

Everyone seemed to notice, and awkwardly tried to help, they tried to find out what happened, to fix it. Mrs. Winters was right though, you have to want help to get help and Misha didn’t want it.

I was getting better, slowly. Beverly was getting better, slowly. Clark was staying the same, but Misha seemed to get worst. I can’t do anything about it.

It was the beginning of April, when she finally said something to me. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Tomorrow’s the day, huh? Tomorrow’s the fifteenth.”

My heart stopped, knowing what she meant. Out of all the things to say, to start talking about, and you say that?

“Yeah, it is. Seven years.”

“Seven years.” She whispered, shaking her head. “Do you miss him?”

“Everyday.” I whispered.

That was that.

The next day, I couldn’t go to school. I could never go to school on this day, I just could go through it.

Lucy and mom stayed home too. It was like our family day to remember him, even if Lucy couldn’t remember him. I would tell her stories about him and we would all cry for different reasons. My mom lost the love of her life, Lucy cried because she never got the chance to love him like I did, and I cried because I loved him as much as I did. There was no win in this situation, none at all; it was just pure undeniable loss.

I went to his grave by myself later on. My mom went in the mornings, I don’t know why but it had something to do with them. I went at sunset because it had something to do with us.

It was my last day with him, the last time I would speak with him. I wished I told him goodbye before he left to work the morning he died but no one knows when they’re going to die.

We were on our deck looking at the sunset.

“Is something wrong son?” He asked.

“No.” I said looking at the sun. “I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

I looked up at my dad, the gold light engulfing his brown hair making it look a bit blond, his eyes brown looking down at me with patients.

“This kid, Henry, my friends are mean to him. They bully him.”

“Do you bully him?”

“No.”

“Did you tell you’re friends to stop it?” My dad asked.

I frowned looking at my feet. “No.”

My dad sighed, leaning back on his arms. “Are you his friend?”

I shook my head. “No. He’s weird, and he talks too much.”

“You think so, or is that what your friends say?” He asked, not judgmentally but with actual curiosity.

“Hm.” I paused. “Me?”