Jesse

36: One last goodbye

Ian Greene

36: One last goodbye

            That one unforgettable feeling. That paralyzes. That chills your very blood. That hits you so hard it causes your legs to buckle, from the sudden impact. And everything about you gives away. You become stripped of anything but crippling weakness, sickening dizziness, and excruciating pain. Of that unexpected, terrifying reality—like the collision of wrecking ball straight into your chest, out of nowhere. Leaving you breathless. Leaving you lost and confused. Leaving you changed, forever.

            It was the exact feeling that crushed me, when I heard about Kellan's death. Everything was unbelievably surreal for those first few moments. Nothing seemed right. Everything was out of place. Living in an unshakable, numbing nightmare. I would wake up. Kellan would be alright. He would still be alive, and everything would go back to being normal, like it always been.

            But the problem was: I never woke up. The nightmare lasted. I wasn't sure I could handle it all over. Not this time…But here I was, again…

            This time it had been the last person, I would least expect—the last person I would want to be hurt like this. No. This wasn't right. It couldn't be Jesse. None of this was happening. I wanted more than anything to say all of this was a lie. I was having the same nightmare over. But instead of Kellan, it was Jesse. This hospital was not real.

            The cold, metal chair I sat it was not real.

            The waiting room, and its obscenely ticking clock—were neither real.

            None of it was. I would wake up, and I would be in my bed, Jesse sleeping peacefully next to me, seeing the moonlight reflect through our window—yes, our—and smile, maybe even laugh, realizing that all of this had been nothing but a silly nightmare. Things like this didn't happen.

            But, they did. All the time.

            And this was real. All of it. And it was Jesse. It was him.

            You never actually acknowledged it, until it happened to you. Then you awaken. Then you realized. How much you take for granted. How much that one person really means to you. How much you know in your heart, they could never in a lifetime be replaced. I have to remind myself to breath as I intensely stared at my hands clenched together, almost in a praying position, as I leaned over slightly.

            The waiting room stuffed with fake foliage, coffee tables; littered with magazines, cushioned furniture, and matching lamps sat on corner tables—was dead silent. Except for the insistent noise the mounted clock made constantly. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was designed to distract you. But also, to remind you of the time slipping away. The time you were losing. All of the precious time. It was driving me insane.

            I breathed in raggedly, and I could almost taste the cleanly sanitation of the air. Overpowering, and almost nauseating. There was something else lingering—something citrusy—maybe some type of air freshener. I had to concentrate on the little stuff, or I would go mad.

            The waiting was killing me.

            There was a rustling of the fake leather that lined our seats next to me. From the corner of my eye, I saw the girl that had introduced herself as Joann: saw her long, flowing hair, the rippling color of brown honey. I saw her hollowed eyes, sunken with emotional fear. She held her pale, bare arms folded, close to her dark purple T-shirt, sprayed with dried blood, and withered hope. I saw her bite her lip, nervously, reflecting all of the pain, lifelessness, and horror coiled within me, in her shaky movements—her fidgeting.