I skip classes Thursday and stay in my room all day. I don't bother to shower. I don't even leave my bed except to use the restroom. Liz texts me, asking why I skipped classes and I tell her that I wasn't feeling well.
The rest of the day is empty and before I know it daylight turns to night. But before the darkness comes, I pull myself from my bed long enough to leave the dorm and climb onto the roof. It's cold and I didn't bring my jacket out with me. I face the sunset, watching the light fade from me. I can feel it, too. I try to hold onto it, the warmth and the brilliance, but it leaves me. Isn't that the way it goes? The light always leaves no matter how much you don't want it to.
But... I suppose that's all the more reason to enjoy the light while it's here. I do just that and then, I notice that, even though I'm in the center of the city and I'm surrounded by artificial light and the sun is gone, the stars seem especially bright tonight.
It's a funny thing. Even the darkness seems brighter since I met her.
* * *
Friday.
I abandon my room in time to make it to my classes, where I see Liz. She walks over and sits beside me this time and my heart beats a little faster. "Feeling better?" she asks.
"Much," I say with a nod.
"Good." She plops her backpack down on the table in front of us and proceeds to pull her laptop out. "How about we walk the track after classes?"
I look up at her. "That sounds perfect." She smiles just as the professor walks to his podium and begins roll call.
After class, we take our things to our rooms and meet outside the dorms. Following the sidewalk, we come to the track that circles the field and step onto the gravel.
It's overcast, so I ask, "What do you see in the clouds?"
We watch them on the horizon and above us, finding the pictures and shapes in them and calling them out by name.
"That one looks like a Unigator."
"A Unigator?" I chuckle.
"Yeah! It's a cross between a unicorn and an alligator."
"That doesn't count."
"Sure it does," she protests.
I just laugh and we go on like this. After a while, though, she has to leave for an appointment with her academic advisor. I walk her back to the sidewalk and as she walks away, she turns her head and gives me a smile. "Bye. Thanks for the walk."
I smile and give a short wave. "No. Thank you."
With that, she leaves.
I don't think I could ever forget her smile.
* * *
Saturday, Sunday, Monday all pass in a blur, fragments in my head until they all jumble together and I can't tell one from the other. I haven't seen Liz since our walk Friday. Finally, I get to see her again in class on Tuesday morning. She's a little late, so we don't get to talk before the professor starts roll call. But she smiles and waves and I do too. I avoid Jeremiah like the plague and I don't look at him, even though, out of the corner of my eye, I can see his head turned me. I've no room for his judgment. Not today.
When class is over, Liz and I meet just outside the classroom door and I walk her back to the dorms.
"So what do you do in all your free time? You seem to spend a lot of time in your room."
"I write," I say. "I keep a journal." And I don't know why, but I add, "I used to write music too. And play."
She widens her eyes. "Really?"
I nod.
"You'll have to play for me some time."
I shrug. "I don't think I could. I haven't played in a long time. I'm probably no good anymore."
She screws her face up and narrows her eyes at me. "Okay, well, maybe someday."
"Maybe. Someday."
* * *
Wednesday.
I get lost in the days, now. The hours and the minutes and the seconds consume me until I can't tell the moments apart. I spend almost all of my free time with her so I haven't written in my journal the last few days.
Today is Wednesday, I remind myself.
I can't tell where I am right now. Mentally, that is. My mind constantly wanders to Liz and with each passing second, I feel myself floating higher and higher until everything around me is gone and it doesn't matter. But then I see Jeremiah in passing or I see him from a distance and I come crashing down.
I look over at my pantry and I see it sitting there next to it. My guitar, propped up in its stand. I never got to use it at the Christmas Festival. I remember where I was when I was supposed to be performing. I was on the floor of the shower, surrounded by my own blood as the water washed it down the drain. And my razor was between my fingers.
I remember not being able to breathe as the tears and the blood mingled with the shower water. Thanks to the icy water, I didn't feel the sting of the open wound on my chest over my heart.
I haven't touched my guitar since the moment Jeremiah stopped believing in me. Because in that moment, I stopped believing in myself too.
Why? I ask myself with every burning memory of him. Why do I let myself remember someone who so easily forgot about me?
I don't want this. I don't want this hurt. I don't want this destruction. I don't want this stinging in my chest every time I think of someone I used to know.
Suddenly, there's a resolve that constructs itself inside my chest and I inhale deeply. I remember that this is my life. I make the rules. I will live and die on my terms.
And right now, I want to live because the thought of her doesn't escape me. I don't mean that I want to simply exist or survive through life.
I want to live.
Alone in my room, I smile to myself at the thought of her.
I turn a few pages back in my journal and find the entry from two weeks ago.
I need to know her.
And those words become real to me again. I feel them in my bones, now.
I'm moving, now. I grab my backpack and shove some clothes and the other things I can't live without (phone charger, journal, deodorant, and toothbrush) inside with no particular order.
And then I walk over to where my guitar is. A thin layer of dust coats it and I pick it up by the neck. I sit back down on the chair and, with trembling hand, pull the guitar closer, resting it on my knee. I grab a napkin and gently dust it off. When I'm done I open my desk draw and pull out a pick. I freeze when it gets closer to the string.
I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can even play anymore.
What have I got to lose?
So, taking a deep breath, the fingers on my left hand find their place and, gripping the pick, I begin to strum.
And I think I start to cry as the music fills my room. But I stop myself and shove my pick in my pocket. I grab my backpack and, guitar in hand, I leave my room.
I walk across the dorm floor and don't let myself stop when I see Jeremiah's name on his door. I keep going until I pass it and then I'm outside and across the parking lot and shoving my things inside the back of my van.
Breathless, I pull my phone from my pocket and turning it on. I move to my contact list and my thumb hovers over her name until I press it, as if those three letters can keep me grounded, keep me sane.
I type without thinking, my thumbs flying across the on-screen keyboard.
Me: Let's go.
A few minutes later, she texts back.
Her: Where?
Me: Nowhere. Everywhere. It doesn't matter. Let's get lost.
Her: Ok.
And that's all I need.
Me: Ok.
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