Echoes Into Eternity

Since Then

 "Not Owen," I breathed.

Suddenly, the world felt too dark, the space too small. My hand absentmindedly went to my chest, which ached with the quick compressions of my lungs.

I can't remember how many times I had said those two, simple words, "Not Owen."

First, when I was a child, too young to understand patience, but old enough to know I should tolerate people who annoyed me. Often, Owen would come and knock on our door. He only lived two houses down the street. He'd ride his bike down the sidewalk just to skip up to the door and ask me to play. If I was having a rough day, I'd usually groan at my mother when she answered his knock, whining, "Not Owen..."

Then, when we were in middle school. It was an awkward time when we weren't friends due to active hormones and stupid crushes. Of course, we'd still come up with lame excuses to talk to each other, so we still kept in touch -- just in a very middle-schooler way. If one of my friends pointed across the room at his lanky frame and continuously embarrassed expression, revealing that he was her crush, I would just laugh and say, "Not Owen!"

Because Owen was my friend. I had always been fond of him, only to realize that when it was too late.

In highschool, rumors went around about fights and the kid who got involved to defend the victim. Always, someone would begin to tell me about the hero. Under my breath I'd sigh, "Not Owen." We'd meet after school that day to walk home, silent because of the harsh realities of nosebleeds and lethal words. Between Freshman, Sophomore, and the beginning of Junior year, we grew close.

"Not Owen" was a phrase built into my vocabulary. Often, I would say it out of protection. I didn't want him to be hurt again. I had witnessed him break down over his parents' disappearance, and I never wanted to see him in that much pain again. If something was threatening him, or even had the potential to, I'd defend him.

He could defend himself. In fact, Owen was very intelligent. He found loop-holes easily and could counter the opponents' opinion almost naturally. Very easily, he could've thrown a punch and knocked out the people who teased him. He never did, though -- that's why he was harassed.

His soul was too gentle, too joyous, too kind to cause anyone -- anyone -- even a degree of pain. Most people aren't like that. When he wasn't around to speak for himself, I stepped in.

I know he did the same for me. I had witnessed it. Our friendship was a rare kind of genuine. I knew I was lucky. I knew it was too good to be true when I realized not everyone had an Owen.

We had our ups, downs, and heartbreak, but it always came back to who was there from the beginning. Who volunteered to be there, even if the other was angry, emotional, or nervous. We had our good times, too. Getting accepted into clubs, onto sports teams, acing tests, creating beautiful music and art.

The point being, he was always there, in a sense. He was there, even when I didn't want him to be.

We were friends, and that was that. I didn't know if I had feelings for him otherwise. He never brought up the topic of relationships, and neither did I. The pair of us were content with our roles, unsure if we should want to be more.

"Not Owen."

Never had I said those words through tears or agony or remorse. Not until the day fear and panic erupted in my stomach. I shouldn't have opened the computer, I should've waited.

I knew Owen was flying overseas to Europe to visit his grandparents, who had relocated there. Only months after Owen had been born, his parents had abandoned him. His uncle had raised him after that. For seventeen years of his life, it had just been the two of them and the ghost grandparents he talked about sometimes. When Owen had decided to visit them, I hadn't been surprised. He seemed curious about them, as he was curious about everything.