Two and a Half Years Ago
TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO
NIKOLAI
My life has turned into a fucking mess. I mean, I guess it’s fitting. Because it now matches the chaos inside my head.
How is someone supposed to cope with seeing people die in front of their face? See kids die in front of them? And then wake up and see the same events happening to other people over and over again, and we’re just supposed to take it? Accept that it’s a fact of life?
I drain the last of my coffee, the bitterness coating my tongue and mirroring the feeling inside my chest. But as my phone rings and I see the caller ID, I know I need to swallow it down. Shove it away. Compartmentalize.
Perform.
I’m the fun guy. The one who is always going to give someone a good laugh.
I have a part to play.
And so, I do.
For my friends. For my family. For the public who doesn’t want to leave me alone, even though the band is on hiatus. For the women that come one after another.
They give me a little bit of a rush at least.
It’s always good for a while. It’s fun. Distracting. Different from the hollow caverns in my chest that I continue to push the limits to find ways to fill.
But then those eventually lose their spark.
And it’s never their fault. The women are all beautiful. Smart. Kinder than they should be to me and more forgiving than I deserve.
When I laid on the floor of those gymnasium bleachers, crouching over the top of my mom while screaming, and bullets and chaos erupted, I thought that was the end.
I thought that was going to be the end for me.
And as I felt my mom’s body shake beneath mine with panic and my own trembled in terror, I saw her.
I saw the way she looked at me like I was her entire world. And in the reflection of her eyes, I saw that I was always looking back at her the same way.
And it’s why she felt safe to tell me those words that night. Because she was so sure that I was going to say them back. That I felt the same way.
As I laid there, paralyzed by fear, she was my one regret in life.
And I vowed that I would never leave words unsaid because I was stupid. Or scared.
But she seemed happy, and I wouldn’t ruin that for her.
So instead, I tried to move on. And I did. Each time it was exciting, and the moment I felt any sort of feelings toward them, I needed to say it. Needed to speak it into the universe so I didn’t think back to how I felt that day and add another regret.
But every time I told one of them I loved them, it tasted wrong. My heart always knew what my head didn’t want to come to terms with. That I’d fucked up.
So I’m left, going through the motions, trying to find something to fill the void, while I think about her.
I don’t know what kind of perfume she wears anymore. Is it still the soft floral one she used to always have a travel-sized vial in her purse?
I don’t know her favorite restaurant anymore. Does she still keep a running list of her favorite spinach and artichoke dips at various places she visits?
I don’t know what book she’s reading or what show she’s been watching. Does she text him all her reactions to them like she used to with me?
Does she send him playlists of her favorite songs and wait to hear what he has to say about them?
Even her laugh is starting to fade from my memory. It used to be my favorite sound.
Probably still is. If I could just hear it one more time.
But now, all I remember is the sound of her quiet sobs as she trekked across the grass that fateful night.
Saying those words to someone else wasn’t going to fill the void of not being able to say them to the one I really wanted to left inside.
It just took me longer than it should to realize that.