This Is How I Die

This Is How I Made A List

Day Three

Knox Phillips idea of figuring shit out was sitting in the middle of a diner I was sure he frequented given his conversation with the waiter.
For whatever reason, he'd insisted I eat as he dug a led pencil and a notebook from his backpack and tossed them on to the table between us, only pausing for a moment to open the book before his hand shot across the page. Within the time it took the waiter to take our order and bring back our beverages, Knox already had three bulletin points with a load of word vomit under each one. Knowing it'd only intensify my headache if I were to try and decode it upside down, I just leaned back in the booth and squeezed my eyes shut.

"You okay?" Knox's quiet rasp tore through the light buzzing in my ears and forced my eyes open so I was staring directly into his. "I mean, I know you're not okay. But like. . . you know what, I'll shut up."

"I'm okay, Knox." I responded through a sigh. "Just feel like I was hit by a truck."

He eyed me in concern. "That's because you were, Izzie."

I shook my head. "That's impossible, Knox. If I were hit by a truck I'd be dead or at the very least in a hospital."

"I watched a shard of glass form a car windshield impale you, Izzie." Knox whispered, leaning forward so the nobody could eavesdrop on the conversation. "And you break your neck as you fell down Andres' stairs."

         "That's impossible." I breathed. "Knox, it must be some freaky dream or something."

         He made a gesture toward my current state. "Does it feel like a dream? How can you explain feeling so much pain if it truly is just some nightmare?"

I didn't have an answer to that and was more than relieved when the waiter set our food on the table. Unaware of just how hungry I was, I immediately started shoving forkfuls of pancakes into my mouth at an alarming rate. It wasn't until I set my fork down to grab my water that I caught Knox eying me from across the table. I could feel warmth in my cheeks immediately as I considered what I'd just done. Blake would have walked right out of the restaurant if I would have eaten like that in his presence.

"Sorry." I muttered, wiping at my mouth with my napkin.

He made a gesture toward my food. "Eat. I'm not judging you, Izzie. Just surprised that you even have an appetite."

"I usually don't eat like this." I felt the need to clarify. "I promise."

"I don't care how you eat as long as you eat."

His response relaxed me a little and I continued eating, a little slower this time.

"So, I made a list here of everything I remember. Obviously, I can't fill in with your memories since I don't have them, so I need you to try and put down everything that you have remembered."

I took the pencil from his grip and nudged the paper closer to me. There was a lot of talk about my life; the popularity, Blake being my boyfriend and Varsity Quarterback. My sister being a brunette.

All stuff I remembered as well. But it was one sentence at the bottom of each of the five bulletins that had me growing ridged.

She dies in my arms

"You were there?" I whispered, trying my hardest to bring the memories to surface. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember either of the instances that Knox claimed I'd died. "When I died?"

"Yes." Knox retorted, stabbing his fork into a ham steak. "The first time I tried running up the stairs when I saw your foot slip but it was too late and I ended up tripping over my own foot. The second, I tried to take you outside because I thought it'd prevent you from falling down the stairs. But the car. . . it came out of nowhere. Hit a streetlamp post and spun out and hit you. One of the shards of glass from the windshield went right through your back into your chest."