The Waiting Game

The Second Letter

How long did you sit there and cry, Gia?

I hope it wasn’t too long. I know you always lose track of time, letting it slip between your fingers, and I don’t want you to waste anymore of that time on me. Something I’ve learned through all of this is that time is really special, really something. You only get so much of it before it is over, and there’s no time left.

That’s what happened, Gia.

Time and time again, I ran out of time.

~*~

I met him in kindergarten—he gave me a fat lip on accident. He was in my American Government class freshmen year of high school. And now he is gone.

That is what I tell to people who ask. I tell them those words whether it answered their question or not.

It got to the point that it didn’t even matter anymore. Those words were what I was gripping on, knowing that if I let them go then I would never get them back. So I said those words, again and again, my tongue so used to framing them that I no longer have to think. The words were my mantra, my comfort.

I knew that if I had those words, then I had the memories. All of those words built up the memories I needed for him.

I just wish it wasn’t so hard to admit that I knew he was gone more than people seemed to think I did.

The empty spot in my heart told me that he was gone. I didn’t need anyone else to tell me.

And yet.

And yet, I didn’t like admitting it.

It made it feel real.

Fresh.

Dangerous.

It was dangerous.

People thought I was dangerous.

After his death, a lot of people watched me. My friends had come over and so had his, but I noticed that all they did the entire time was study my mannerisms, my facial expressions, the shadows under my eyes. They wanted to help me but they set me on edge. They didn’t know what to expect from me.

No one expected him to kill himself.

No one knew what to expect anymore.

My parents were worried. They asked if I needed to see a counselor, if that would help me. I told them no and I went back into my bedroom, back to staring at my television and my computer and skipping over all of the sad songs that came on shuffle. I played the songs so loud that they drowned out my own thoughts. The relief was fulfilling, satisfying, soothing.