Chapter Two: Lost in a Memory
I remember the sleepless nights while he was off at war. I kept thinking the worse would come. I kept thinking negative thoughts, such despicable prospects in my mind.
And then karma smacked me in the face with those same results.
I left to my house not long after the fight with Freddy, just not wanting to pry into Periwinkle's life. Probably making our friendship fade, like what Freddy exclaimed. But also not wanting to face her and have her see me this way. This broken, like all has tumbled down and instead of landing on puffy clouds, I’ve landed myself on some hard concrete. Especially when Periwinkle and Freddy are married, I don’t need to be in their life and mess everything up. I’m already a screw up as is just by being depressing.
Walking into my house, a heavy burden lies upon my shoulders right when my feet steps right through the doorway. It feels like there is nothing in here but memories; sweet, dreadful memories racing through my mind, forcing me to remember every single one of them even when I tell my brain that I don't want to remember. Yet I don’t want to forget. But how can I forget the love of my life? How can I forget the man who is now dead? How could I allow Kenton to go off to war?
I tried to tell him. I tried to make him stay with me, but he never listened and I feel like I should’ve tried even harder.
The walls are painted white, but look completely dull as if I haven't lived here in ages. I walk down the hallway in the open, next to the living room and the kitchen, where a staircase follows up on the second floor, where our room was. Now it's mine that was someone else’s, but they were just passing through.
I walk up the stairs, without a care in the world, feeling heavy and tired, not wanting to keep my heart beating from such pain that is destroying my life. But I force myself not to do anything reckless.
Opening the door to my room; seeing a king sized bed, a flat screen television in the corner, and then the images hanging on the walls all around the accommodation. I look to every illustration, remembering everything that happened during those picture-takings. Something I couldn't forget, like a first-time thing.
I couldn't forget anything that happened between us, from taking those pictures. But it's disappointing not to cherish each moment with him now, since it's all just a memory being torn apart slowly, fading away like a rose being pulled from the soil––its peddles falling to the ground, preciously. But with just a stem and nothing more, the rose crumbles into nothing, blackening like a demon's soul, dwindling from life because of its death. It's nothing but a dried up flower, dead from no life in the soil.
Just like a memory. Like any memory everyone has. Yet we manage to keep that retention safe, locked up in a box and put away until we're either forced to remember or our mind wants to recollect the past. No matter if it's a sad recollection or if it's a happy reminiscence. There is always a way to get through the mind and into that safe, even if it looks to be locked eternally.
I take one picture with Kenton and me holding each other tightly, grinning like two idiots. It was the middle of September in the image, a few years ago, so we were in winter clothing. My amber eyes gleam from the sun's rays coming down behind us, which made the picture look professional, which isn't since it's just taken by one of my cameras.
Lying down on the bed, I hold the frame on my chest, remembering everything Kenton and I went through, everything that breaks my heart now. It feels like the pictures are my only way to stay close to him, to keep him near me and safe, but even though I want to believe it, I just can’t.
I can’t hold onto this photo of him and think that everything is all right. I can’t believe such a thing, because I know that he’s gone, I know that nothing is fine without him here. I loathe the fact that he’s gone, and anyone could understand that emotion I feel. But even when keeping his pictures close to me, as if it’s one way to make him truly be here, I can’t accept that he’s gone, that everything will be okay. Because it won’t be, it just can’t be all right.
As I take a deep breath, my emotions run through my body, allowing tears to fall from my eyes. The agony of Kenton just burns in the back of my mind; given every ounce of power in my will, to try and fade away but Kenton's silhouette, his voice, just makes it harder to forget; to forget him and to forget us.
As my dried sobs lie on my cheeks, I put the portrait on the bed. I stand up and walk to the bathroom, stripping off my clothing. I turn the hot water on in the shower, stepping in, I let the warmth rush off of my body. In some way, I feel fresh, yet my sensation is still dull and bitter. But I feel immaculate because the water is washing all of my troubles down the drain––only in a state of mind that it happens––but I can dream, can I not?
The liquid devours me, making me its slave as I bow for its command. I'm a weakling, unable to become a "knight in shining armor." For if I did, the fluid would still attack me in my every whim.
That's how depression gets to me. Letting it consume my physique, allowing me to feel guilty or insecure about whatever the situation is. Depression is like an unwanted demon, annihilating the good in people, making them think otherwise of themselves or anything. The demon takes all of the happiness and joy from a person, making them into a demon themselves without them knowing since they're too in denial.
I'm still unhappy about the loss of him, but wouldn't anyone else be too? I bet there is someone out there, dealing with the same heartaches as I am.
Getting out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my body and start picking clothing to wear. After putting on clean clothes, I walk down the stairs and into the living room. Sitting upon the long, blue couch and I look around the room. The beautiful plants in three corners, a large flat screen television in front of me, a giant fireplace diagonal from where I sit, images hanging over the room, and a desk with a computer off to the side by the wall with a lot of papers on it.
I decide go to the P.C and start it up. Sitting on the chair feels like I'm sitting on his lap, like what I would do if he tells me to read something on the internet or some type of article or what I want to know what he's doing, so I'd sit on his thighs while his arm wraps around my waist. And I can feel his presence, lingering around me, like he's still here.
A memory rushes through my brain and I can't help but force that memory to my eyes, so I can remember the sensation and the scene. I close my eyelids and a recollect the past.
I gracefully step on the tile floor; the cement is cold, making a chill go down my spine. My head turns to the right, towards the living room. At the end of the room, Kenton's body sits on the chair turned to the computer, which is facing the wall. My body goes the other direction to the kitchen, and I walk to the coffee-maker. "Hey, do you want any coffee?" I pour a good amount of hot liquid into a mug.
"No thank you," he mutters, but even though he's far away, it's like he's right there next to me.
I wrap my palms around the cup; my fingers slowly touch the glass. Feeling the warmth of it makes me want to snuggle in a cozy bed and fall asleep. I walk backwards for a few steps and turn my heel, heading over to Kenton. "Whatcha looking at?” I half smile and stand next to him, my hip leaning against the chair for support. But I notice that his chair is moving to the side, slowly, so I sit on his lap. My eyes skim the computer screen which is on his email account. He's reading something from one of his friends, Luke and Melissa.
My head turns to Kenton, my eyes scanning his empty face, figuring out what the message must mean to him.
"Luke . . ." he begins, his eyes narrows at the screen. ". . . Luke's gone." He sighs, finally gazing at me. "I protected that son-of-a-bitch and now he's dead!" he yells, hitting the desk.
I can feel his pain because many of our good ole friends have passed on in the army for different reasons. And it just seems terrible that most of them die in a bad way. I just can’t think of anyone else close to me dying. It may even hurt me a whole lot more if it really happened. "God damn it!" he screams through gritted teeth.
"Kenton . . ." I turn towards him and wrap my arms around his head as he somewhat cries into my chest. I rake my fingers through his hair, for a while. "It's okay . . ." I place my head on top of his and kiss it. "Come on, do you want me to make you a large breakfast?" I move away from him just to see his face.
He laughs silently while shaking his head, through sobs that are slowly coming to a halt. "Sure." He exits out of the internet while I stand with my hand out so that he can take it. His fingers touch mine as he stands up and we walk over to the kitchen together.
Reality strikes and I find myself hearing the phone ring. Pacing myself to it, I pick it up after the fourth ring. "Hello?" I question, turning around and leaning against the counter.
"Hi." Jessie's voice appears. "How are you?"
It takes me awhile to adjust myself, regaining strength back in my knees so I won't fall. The last time we spoke or even saw each other, was after the funeral which was about a week and a half ago. "I'm fine . . ." I trail off, swallowing some saliva to catch a breath and then I ask, "You?"
"I'm all right . . . hey, I was wondering if you'd like to hang out?"
"Hang out?" Ever since Kenton, no one wants to be around me. At least, that's how it feels, but they probably want to keep their distance because of my depression.
She chuckles, as if I have never heard of the term "hang out." "Yes, Raven. You, Periwinkle, and I need to have a girl’s night. Is it a date?"
"Are you implying that I'm gay––" I ask, slightly giggling for a second from the joke. As much as I'm hurting and don’t want to make jokes, I need a good giggle every once in a while, apparently.
"Not even close!" She laughs. "Do you want to hang out with us?" she repeats.
If it gets my mind off of him, fine, I think. "Sure." I agree, nodding even though she cannot see me.
"Good, now meet us at this new restaurant called . . . Honey . . . Bones?"
Honey Bones? What kind of restaurant is that? "Hopefully it isn't just filled with honey and bones." I add as it makes us both chuckle again.
"I checked it out, it looked good," she proclaims, sighing in the phone.
"Okay, whatever you say Jessie." I hang up and put the device on the counter, sort of smiling with hopes that hanging out with the two of them would make my day brighten up just a little better.
I grab my car keys, head into the garage and get in the car, while putting the key into the ignition while turning it over as the beetle roars to life. I buckle in my seatbelt as I take a deep breath, put the car in "drive," as my foot lightly presses the accelerator after the garage door opens.