I wish I'd have died in your arms the last time we were together so I wouldn't have to wake without you today. I still have these memories, but we'll never see what we could have been. Remember when we talked about where we'd be a year from now? Remember when you held my hand like you'd never let it go? Remember, cause that's all you can do. We'll never make another memory.
A year ago.....
“Oh God, he’s calling you again!” Kristen informed me as I was kicking around the soccer ball with my friends Even, Stu, Alex, and Mike.
"Let it go to voicemail,” I yelled back, “I’m in no mood to deal with his shit.”
“Haha, whatever you say,” Kristen laughed back at me.
It was a picture perfect day on the beach, the sun was shining, the water was warm as the white tips of the waves crashed along the sand. It was the kind of day that truly made one appreciate the summertime, it was carefree and effortless. I hated having to climb back into the blisteringly hot car to head back home. Kristen and I rolled the windows down and created a ruckus yelling at the car full of guys who had met up with us on the beach today. The car was driving next to us as we crossed over the two lane bridge out of Ocean City. We were making faces at one another and loudly singing the song on the radio. My phone rang again. I looked down to see who was calling. It was him again, Martin. A kid I had known for sometime but after he turned into a stalker I avoided him at all costs. Six phone calls in a matter of 3 hours… something had to be up. Despite my better judgment I answered the phone. I had to yell over the wind coming in through the open windows.
“Hello,” I yelled into the phone as I attempted to crank up the window. My how I wished Kristen would invest in the luxury of power windows.
“Anna?” The voice on the other end of the phone asked.
“Who else would it be?” I replied back with an edge in my voice that let him know his call wasn’t welcome.
“I have to tell you something. What are you doing now?”
“I’m on my way back from the beach with my friends. What do you want?” I answered back. I wanted nothing to do with what he had to tell me. As far as I was concerned nothing he could say to me would be of any importance.
“Are you driving?” he asked.
"No, my friend Kristen is.” I answered him. I was really annoyed with all of these questions. I did not want this phone call to ruin such a great day with my friends. I just wanted to hear what he to say and then get off of the phone. He said something in a voice much lower than he had been speaking before. “What?” I said back into the phone as I was signaling to Kristen to roll her window up as well. He spoke again and I heard what sounded like, “J-Doc ….” But the end of the statement was muffled. I couldn’t imagine what he had to tell me about J-Doc and why it would be so important. He was a kid from the neighbor hood that I barely knew.
“Anna? Anna, did you hear what I said?” Martin asked.
“No, sorry the window was down. I could barely hear anything.,” I told him, “What about J-Doc?” I asked him to clarify his statement.
“He died this morning in a house fire.” He told me and I could hear in his voice this was very bad news. The tone of his voice and what he was telling me some how didn’t fit together. Granted, a kid my age passing away from a house fire was a tragedy, especially so close to my own home. But, there was no udder importance for me to be told this. I hardly knew Jim, we had been at a few neighborhood gatherings together and that was the extent of our friendship.
“J-Doc? Like Jim Docherty?” I asked Martin, clearly confused by what he was telling me.
“No Anna. Tom. Tom Doherty.” He answered my question sounding a little irritated at my confusion but still very sympathetic. All at once everything made sense. Why he had called me 6 times that day. Why it was so important that he tell me right away. Why his voice was so sympathetic. Why he had asked me if I was driving. Everything made sense. I have no idea how much time had passed that I sat there in silence with my phone held up to my ear. I was putting all of the pieces together in my head. Tom Doherty, not J-Doc, had died this morning in a house fire. One of my best friends. A kid I had immediately become friends with my freshman year in high school to only have our friendship continue to strengthen as we went through our 4 years of Paul VI together. An amazing friend who I had managed to stay very close with even though our freshman year in college had us four states apart. Tom had died. My Tommy boy was gone.
“Anna… Anna… Anna are you there?” Martin’s voice was muffled, like I was swimming underwater and he was calling to me from the surface. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Girl, what the hell? Are you alright?” I heard Kristen’s voice, it seemed to be a hundred feet away and not right next to me. Then I heard this blood curdling scream, a scream that you would hear as if someone were being dragged off by a serial killer. It was the kind of scream that pierced your eardrum as it reverberated through the air. “OOOH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!! WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT’S HAPPENING?” I heard Kristen’s voice yelling over the scream. The blood curdling, eardrum piercing scream was coming from me. I hadn’t even realized I opened my mouth. I gasped for air, only to realize that my chest was too tight to allow my lungs to expand. My hyperventilating at some point had turned into sobs and I could feel the warm tears rolling down my sun kissed cheeks as the reality that I had just lost one of my best friends was beginning to sink in.
“Tom. Tommy boy. My Tommy boy, my Tommy boy. No, this can’t be happening,” I was mumbling between the sobs that seemed to be controlling every inch of my body.
The next amount of time was immeasurable; it may have been ten minutes or a span of ten hours for all I knew. At some point we pulled over to the shoulder of the road, Kristen must have signaled to the other car for them to do the same because I heard her, over my sobs, talking to Mike. The next thing I knew, the passenger side door was opened and Mike reached across to unbuckle my seat belt. I wanted to say something, to vocalize the thoughts running through my head but I couldn’t control my crying long enough. Mike scooped me up out of the seat and held me like a child tight against his chest. He called to Kristen to open the back door. He climbed into the backseat, swung my legs over his lap, and wrapped his arms around me. I buried my head in his chest and continued to cry as he stroked my hair. I remember Kristen and Mike’s attempts to cheer me up. I remember trying to get a grip, to pull my self together but every attempted failed, throwing me back into hysterics. I remember trying to imagine what all of this meant. I remember trying to think back and recall memories we had, it hurt too much.
The rest of the ride home is a blur, it seemed to take hours. As we pulled up in front of my house, Mike picked my head up out of his chest. He pushed my hair back off of my face and wiped my cheeks and eyes with the bottom of my shirt. “Don’t move,” he said as he slid across the seat and out the door. The slam of the car door behind him sounded like a cannon going off, it made me jump. The door to my left swung open and again his arms reached in to pull me out.
“I want to walk,” I protested. He set me down and as my legs wobbled under my own weight his arm wrapped around my waist and he pulled me close to him, supporting me. When we got to the front door Kristen was already there talking to my grandmother, explaining to her what happened I assume. She gave her a kiss on the cheek and then one on mine, there was an exchange of arms and my grandmother was now supporting my weight. She walked me up the stairs and helped me into bed before turning to leave the room. A few minutes later my grandmother returned with a glass of water and a cold wash cloth to wipe down my face. The glass of water remained on my night table.
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
Sunday, 2am
I woke up screaming. My face and pillow soaked with tears. My chest was pumping in and out quickly as I tried to control my breathing. I threw my feet to floor and ran to the bedroom door, I opened it to find my mother standing on the other side, looking frightened but as though this were a routine. I pushed past her to the kitchen. I checked the stove, all the burners were off. I ran downstairs; both the candles had been put out. I collapsed to the floor, put my face in my hands and sobbed. This was the fourth night in a row I woke myself up in a panic, afraid the house was going to catch fire.
This routine continued for the next five months. After a week or two my mom no longer waited on the other side of the door. I moved back to school the end of August and although I was still woken up by the too familiar nightmare, I no longer found the need to get out of bed. The nightmare still comes, less frequent and much less potent than before, but still its there as a constant reminder of how everything can change in the blink of an eye.
I miss you, I miss your smile and I still shed a tear every once in a while.
And even though it's different now you're still here somehow
My heart won't let you go <3
