45. Bailey
forty-five
Bailey
The church sanctuary is congested, full of family and friends.
Nat’s parents and closest relatives are quietly seated in the first few rows.
A casket adorned with more roses than she was granted years of life sits before us.
The scent of flowers, stale cigarette smoke, and mourning permeates the air.
It’s overcrowded.
Suffocating.
Take a seat, breathe.
The pew is uncomfortable. A fragile layer of decades old cushion between me and the unforgiving rigidity. My chest tightens, lips numb, hands trembling.
Blue lights. Red lights.
Liam screaming.
The sour taste in my mouth.
Nat’s car. The tree.
Blood.
So much blood. I smell it. The hot copper tang and airbag dust, the damp evening air, the putrid sour note of my stomach contents.
Memories consume me. I can’t breathe. There is no distinguishing the moment and the experience, for both have reshaped who I am and who I am capable of being. I am there and here. Both places are so painful I wish to be in neither of them.
“Bays, look at me. Bailey. Open your eyes and stay with me. Breathe. It’s okay, I’m here. Liam is here. You’re okay,” a warm voice whispers.
I recognize the empty promises, but obey and open my eyes. Peyton’s patient blues stare back at me, concern written across her face. I grab the flask out of my jacket pocket and bend forward in hopes no one sees this last-ditch effort to survive the next few hours.
“Bailey,” Peyton says, elbowing my side.
I look at her and she motions to the front, toward the finality that’s covered in floral arrangements.
Liam.
Oh god.
I choke down a sob as I watch my best friend place a hand on the casket, palm flat, fingers splayed as if trying to get as close to her as possible. His right hand reaches into his pocket, reverently laying something inside.
I can’t make out the item from here, but even through tear-filled eyes I can see that he left a piece of himself to rest alongside her. He takes slow steps back, away from her tragic ending, and makes his way to his seat.
“Come on, babe. It’s time for our row. Stand up,” Peyton whispers, placing her hand under my elbow as if she could support the weight that buries me.
My head swims as I make my way up the aisle. The offensive floral notes turn my stomach as Peyton and I grow closer. The roses are beautiful, but the smell is acrid, certain to haunt me for years to come. Peyton’s hand flies up to her mouth as she gasps.
I slowly turn my gaze away from the roses.
“Look,” she whispers, pointing down at Nat’s hands. Pale and forgotten, all the good those hands were meant to do in the world ripped away before they even had a chance to dream.
My tear-filled eyes make out a ring. A stunning gold band with a signet adorned atop.
Liam.
His class ring.
She’s so pale. Lifeless.
My chest is caving in, lungs refusing to expand.
The only sound my ears register is the thud of my knees on the carpet as I fight for my next breath.
Strong arms pull me up, hooked firmly underneath my own. There’s warmth behind me. Solid, a safe place. Refuge in the chaotic storm that has become my existence.
“Bays,” a deep voice whispers. “It’s time to take our seats,” they say.
Take our seats? What the fuck is he talking about?
“Come on, I’ve got you.”
Lolly?
No.
Liam.
It’s Liam.
“Liam,” my voice comes out shaking and raw.
“How are we supposed to do this?”
I feel like my sternum has been cracked open, exposing all vital parts of me. Painfully vulnerable in my inability to survive minute by minute.
“I don’t know yet, Bays. I have no fucking idea. Right now, what we’ll do is go take our seats. We’ll take our seats and concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. We will sit and we will survive one second at a time.”
The echoes of past conversations suddenly become loud in my mind, showing me the passages of our story I didn’t bother reading. Neither of us speak as we take our seats and prepare ourselves.
How can anyone be expected to say goodbye when the hello is still so beautiful?
I realize the service is over when Peyton elbows me to stand. I concentrate on breathing. Like Liam told me too.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Right foot.
Left foot.
I don’t know how much time has passed. I exist in some hellscape. Senses heightened and dulled simultaneously.
Roses and death and cologne and sweat.
Humming of conversations and hushed cries.
My head is spinning and my feet are heavy.
I’m certain that my heart is going to stop beating any second now. It has to. The universe can’t expect me to survive this.
The room quiets as people exit. Taking memories and plans with them. Afforded the luxuries Nat wasn’t.