Our Last Time: A Novel (18 page)

Kennedy

I had fallen asleep
crying, and had woken up with the tears branded on my cheeks, dried. I had started crying again, and I pictured Willow’s face. She was distraught and miserable last night.

Yesterday, I had said Hello to Willow for the last time. I hadn’t wanted to get out of bed. I was lying on top of my bedsheets, thinking to myself:
what if I could end it all in the matter of just a few hours?

I couldn’t stoop to suicide. I couldn’t cower into death. I wanted to be strong. I hadn’t wanted to end my life with pills. I wanted to believe I had a reason to continue while I could.

When I returned home last night, I wrote a poem-like-thing to Willow that I had known wouldn’t be delivered to her by me. It was my explanation for saying Hello for the last time sooner than later.

Tonight you told me

you couldn’t let me die alone.

Because we’re in love,

through days we drone,

we don’t lose track of our place

and we don’t try to find a new home.

The truth is I have cancer,

but you just want to see me.

There’s a thing about illness,

it breaks into your body and it creates a disease.

I’ll soon lose track of my thoughts,

and I won’t be put at ease.

It will constantly eat at me,

it will slowly take over me,

and eventually, it will become me.

My mind will no longer be operable,

and I won’t recognize the people that I used to know.

Not you, not even you.

If you were there at that time and place,

I wouldn’t remember why I ever loved you,

I wouldn’t smile at the view of your face.

Foreign love isn’t pretty,

no, it’s unusual and manipulating.

You’d kneel at my bedside, feeling pain and pity.

I’d feel alone, so unaware.

I can’t let you see me alone and unaware,

no, it would be selfish and wrong.

To you it’d be unfair.

I can only tell you I love you now,

because I mean it now

and I say it proud.

Just this one time,

Willow Renee Monroe.

I’ll tell you I love you,

because I do.

I love you more than I love myself,

and I will love you with my heart

even when my mind doesn’t think I do.

Loving you is like brain cancer,

but less traumatic to the brain.

You took over me like an illness,

you drove me insane.

- Kennedy Danes, August 16
th
, 1997

P.S. When you feel it burning in your heart, let yourself fall in love with someone else. Tell them you love them, so they know for sure. Don’t let the story of us be the end for you. You were my forever. I was your beginning.

I hadn’t considered myself a poet by any means, but I had known she’d love my words anyway, and I had known she would take my conclusive advice. She wouldn’t be ready to read it for a while. She’d have to move on to a new life before reading this. I hadn’t wanted her to read this while being in a state of misery, and missing me to the point where it’d hurt just to breathe. If she loved me as much as I loved her, and I had known she had - she’d be broken for a long time. She’d be broken for years.

I had forced myself to get up, so I could tell my momma and Tamara that I was not going to take the lethal medication. I hadn’t thought it would be the best way out. I wanted to leave at my own pace. I hadn’t wanted to force an end, even if it’d be less painful.

They understood. My mother was relieved, and I had known she would be. She hadn’t wanted me to take that medication. She wanted me to stay strong, and I told her I would try. Death was a natural thing, no matter how ugly. I couldn’t rush it or change its ways, and I hadn’t wanted to.

“I want to flush the pills, Tamara,” I told her.

She grabbed my hand, and squeezed it. “They’d be better off out of sight,” she said.

I nodded, then said, “And out of mind.”

Tamara retrieved the bottle of pills from her nightstand, and I then followed her to the bathroom. “Would you like to dump them in, or shall I?” she asked me gently.

“I’ll do it,” I replied.

I grabbed the bottle, took the cap off, and dumped all of the pills out into the toilet bowl. I pulled on the handle, and watched as they swirled around before disappearing. “I feel better, now, somehow,” I sighed. I handed her the empty bottle after capping it. “I don’t care where you put the bottle.”

She had put it in her back pocket. “You’re stronger than my husband was,” she whispered.

I hugged her tightly, my arms over her shoulders. “I’m about as strong as I look,” I said in response.

I was skinny, but not too skinny, and I was tall. I never wanted muscles enough to work for them, and it showed.

“You’re an amazing kid,” she said simply. “Your mindset is more level than most people’s, including mine.”

If only she had known about my internal debate regarding these pills. I almost reached that point last night; that point to just end it all.

I had stopped myself, and thought:
this is hard, but I can’t surrender. I can’t give up.

Not everyone had timely thinking. I had just developed the level of needed sense at the right time.

“Tamara, there is only so much one person can take. We all handle things differently. Death can drive a person mad, and make them think they hate the people they love unconditionally. They have no reasons, just thoughts and certain drives. Maybe your husband thought it was the right thing to do, for you and for him. I wouldn’t say he was weak for thinking that way,” I said to her.

She sniffed once, and then sighed. “I’m glad you chose to stick around longer.”

We had dropped our arms to our sides. “I knew it was necessary to stick around longer,” I shrugged.

We walked downstairs, and my momma was waiting on the couch for us. She had given me a mug full of tea, and a smile full of warmth. I couldn’t shorten my life even more when I had my mother’s smile to see for just a little bit longer. Even if she had bags under her eyes. We all had bags under our eyes. We were tired, worn people. The anticipation of death affected all of us, and it was a fact I was slowly starting to face.

“I love you, mom,” I said.

“I love you, too, son,” she said.

I leaned against her shoulder once she turned the TV on. She draped a blanket over us as I held my mug close to my chin; Tamara was on the other side next to my momma, getting comfortable.

I was as close to
comfortable
as I’d be without Willow, but I also thought about the happiness she’d feel eventually. She’d be okay again someday, even without me.

“Momma,” I said, to get her attention. I placed my mug on the coffee table as she looked over at me with curiosity reaching her face. I dug the piece of paper out of my pocket, and folded it a third time.

“Give this to Willow when she falls in love,” I told her, and then I handed her the poem I wrote.

She said she would, and then that was that.

Willow

We were going
to arrive in Chicago soon. We were told to come to a landing around ten-thirty. Annette and Caitlyn were asleep, while I was wide awake, thinking a lot about what Trace and I discussed. I couldn’t stop thinking about it since Sunday, the day we discussed it. It wasn’t even the lesbian thing. I wasn’t
that
surprised about the lesbian thing. It was her questions regarding
me
and whether I was in love with Wyatt or not.

I would see him today. I had known that I’d see him today at some point after school ended. I was going to meet him there, in his classroom.

I wanted to hug him, kiss him, and invite myself to his place. I wanted to sit on his couch and watch television with him. I wanted him to want to sit on my couch, and watch television with me. I wanted to laugh with him and talk with him and go on adventures with him. I hadn’t known if he was ready for us to become something real, but I was ready to dig deeper. I had been ready for less than forty-eight hours, now.

We had come to a landing at ten-thirty-two. I had woken Annette and Caitlyn up. Caitlyn had only muttered one cuss word before lazily standing to her feet. Annette was a bit groggy herself.

“We’re going home, now, mommy?” Annette asked sleepily, as she lightly tugged on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. We were all wearing pajamas, and were pretty tired, physically. We’d had a busy few days.

“Yeah, sweetie. We’re going home,” I said through a sigh.

“Fuck if I’m not ready to sleep in my own bed,” Caitlyn whispered close to my ear, so Annette wouldn’t hear her.

I had known that Caitlyn was ready to be home. I was surprised she had put on such a great filter and watched her language in front of my parents. She was an amazing friend to me. She had been waiting for the past four days to lie around, settle her emotions with junk food, and suffocate under a pile of blankets in her own comfortable space. It was the break-up routine, but I had known it was permanent this time. Caitlyn had thought Brian was her forever, and I had thought so, too, at one point. He had proved to be a manipulating, cheating, low-life, money hungry, sorry excuse of a man - the list could go on forever, I knew.

I had thought she’d watch Annette without me having to ask, so I’d be able to see Wyatt. I was going to ask anyway, though, because it was the courteous thing to do. I also worried for Caitlyn. I hadn’t known exactly how bad the break-up actually affected her.

After paying for parking, we had exited the airport before piling in my Jetta. Caitlyn had briefly taken me aback by hugging my neck tightly as we sat parked.

“What’s up?” I asked her quietly, as I clutched her arms affectionately in response. She had seemingly hugged my neck tighter.

“I just love you so much. And I love little babe so much, too,” she said. She had been referring to Annette as
‘little babe’
. “And I don’t need Brian or any kind of stupid boyfriend, because I have you and I have little babe,” she continued.

“We love you, too. We wouldn’t know what to do without our Caitlyn,” I smiled warmly. Annette had already been nodding off in the backseat, oblivious to my and Caitlyn’s conversation. “And no, you don’t need a boyfriend, and
hell
no, you definitely don’t need Brian. He fades in comparison to the gum on the bottom of Annette’s shoe.”

There had been an old piece of gum on the bottom of Annette’s sneaker that I noticed prior. It had definitely looked gross; it just wasn’t as gross as Brain.

She laughed lightly as she released me, and then sat up in her seat. “You’re such a ridiculous person, but I love that about you more than anything, you know that?” she questioned, grinning.

“I’m humorously blunt, and I’m just glad you put up with my insensitive sarcasm,” I responded.

She sighed. “You always know how to make me feel better. Always.”

“Ditto,” I replied.

“Yeah, we both give each other good advice, huh?” she asked thoughtfully.

I nodded. “We’re the best of friends,” I quoted, half-smiling.

Caitlyn peeked behind her, and what she saw was Annette softly snoring in her slumber.

“Hell motherfucking
yes
,” she responded, her voice still quiet.

We laughed together for a little while before I decided to take us all home, and prepare myself for Wyatt - my mind and my words.

3:36p.m.

I was sitting
in the school parking lot. I had showered, put some decent clothes on, and even had done something different with my hair. Caitlyn insisted on curling it for me. She was happy to do it, and she was happy to watch Annette so I could do
this
. I had sandals on my feet, though it was quite cold outside. I stared at my French-tipped toenails for a moment in thought before getting out of the car.

When I made it to his classroom, it was empty and he was smiling and I was
motionless
as I stood there about a foot away from him.

What a handsome face he had.

“Did you read my note, Willow?” he asked. He was taking little itty bitty steps, closer and closer.

I closed his classroom door before I took a large, robotic step toward him and his suit; a half-smile had crept up my face. “Yep. Every word you wrote,” I sighed. “And you know, I can be quite stylish, actually, and Wyatt, you should see me on movie nights. My manners need some work, but I’d like to think I’m not
too
terrible to be around.”

              “You’re beautiful, Willow. You don’t need to dress nicely to be yourself. One of my favorite things about you is the fact that you don’t wear sticky lip-gloss or chalky lipstick. Because you’re open to being Willow, I can’t help but to admire you every second of each day, even when you’re not around,” he went on, and I rolled my eyes at his words, but I was smiling and I was happy.

We stood under the dimmed lights in his classroom, and I had figured the lights could go out at any minute… but I also figured Wyatt had weird preferences when it came to light bulbs for just days like today, too.

It was like a candlelight gathering, but in a classroom with just Wyatt and me, and it was romantic in a way, or at least that’s what I thought to myself. His neat mahogany desk, his organized calendar, his ‘strike’ board for the bad kids, and his display board for the good kids were all there for me to see, and I loved that.

He grinned. “I’m definitely thinking about what nights will be ours, and Willow, I think about time and I think about you. I wonder what it’d be like to take you out on a date. I wonder about us so much, I can hardly ever sleep at night,” he exhaled, and then he had rubbed his thumb across the tip of his chin, daring to move the short hairs settling there.

We were walking closer to one another simultaneously, while our faces were visibly full of lust and full of hope. Our bodies we believed were on fire. We felt like drama in real life.  “I can hardly ever sleep through a night without dreaming,” I said, as I then wrapped my arms around his waist. “About you,” I whispered in clarification, and he tucked a curl behind my ear with his one hand.

“Yeah?” His curiosity lingered as his heat got close enough to fight my heat. We were flesh up against each other, now. “I just want to go somewhere, anywhere with you,” he said, and then he kissed my temple. His nose was pressed to my hairline.  “I wish your dreams with me could come true, whatever they might be.”

I backed away a little so I could see his face. “But they
can
come true, Wyatt. We can make it real if we really want to. No more mysteries,
seriously
; we need to cut it out. No more cutesy notes. Let’s just be irresponsible adults together, and possibly every day from this point on. Let’s change our thoughts and dreams into actions,” I explained, as I grabbed the back of his neck and looked him intently in the eyes. “If we’re rooting for the same thing, we might as well act on it now, while we can,” I whispered conclusively.

He smiled widely, then his warm lips briefly met mine. He nudged my nose with his, teasingly. “I was planning that all along, Willow. Sooner than you think, too. But I must say, your drive is a
serious
turn-on - sexier than your New Balance sneakers, even,” he smirked that smirk that used turn me upside down with fuming anger, but his smirks and his sarcasm I was sincerely growing to
love
more and more.

“Wyatt,” I exhaled deeply as I hitched my eyebrow. “My nurse shoes aren’t a laughing matter. We’re talking mandatory footwear.”

He chuckled at my deadpan comment. “It’s kind of funny, but maybe I need to let that one go,” he shrugged. I felt his casted arm brush my thigh.  “Either way, you’ll always be my favorite nurse.”

“Mhmm,” I nodded, grinning. “I bet you’re ready for that cast to come off,” I said.

“Ten days,” he breathed. “I’m ready for this hindrance to be removed, indeed.”

I ran my hand over the white fiberglass cast that was covering his left arm as I let out a sigh. “You’ll be able to do more with your hands,” I murmured.

He raised his eyebrows. “Willow, are you being a pervert right now?” he asked, suddenly grinning so big I could see his gums.

I laughed lightly. “Um, no, not really.”

“You are,” he insisted. “What, was there something you had in mind when you said that?”

I shrugged. “Showering will be easier,” I said simply.

He couldn’t deny that, I knew, because I had witnessed it to be a serious annoyance for him and other patients.

“Well, obviously,” he whispered. “But other things, too, like, I won’t have to write with my right hand anymore.”

“Ah,” I smiled. “Is your hand-writing different when you write with your left hand?” I asked curiously.

He caressed the small of my back with his fingertips. “Completely different. A lot neater,” he said.

I nodded. “Could have guessed that.”

He pulled me to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he questioned, his tone thick.

“It means you’re neat,” I said.

“Yeah? You’re pretty neat, too, but, like, you're
neat
rather than the over-used word ‘cool’, though,” he responded, his eyes darting around a little. His smile crooked on the side of his mouth, then.

My eyes slightly widened as my mouth formed into a small circle. “Wow, Wyatt. You don’t look nearly as dorky as you truly are,” I cooed, amused.

“And you truly can’t take a compliment,” he fired back. His eyebrows were raised, and his smile was cheeky.

I sighed. “Okay, try another one on me,” I said in return.

“Are you sure you want me to?” he asked, his lips suddenly brushing my earlobe.

I nodded. “Yes, Wyatt.”

He didn’t waste a second.

“I can’t count on my ten fingers how many different smiles I’ve seen on your face. One of the first one’s was a fixed smile, which is a fake smile, but on you, it’s still beautiful. You’re always beautiful. But the smile I’ve seen on your face today, Willow? It’s genuine. It’s huge. It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen and it’s the only thing that has caused my heart to skip a beat in a way that feels
right
,” he said, and my smile had gotten bigger, somehow, as he continued speaking, his mouth still barely touching my earlobe.

“I feel…jubilant when I’m with you. I don’t remember what I used to feel like, because there’s so much of
you
, now, and you’re taking up my thoughts and giving me hope for good things and a drastically less depressing future. When it comes to compliments, this isn’t all I have to say, Willow. There will always be more, because I find new things to say every day. Every day, Willow, I find new things to love about you.”

We kissed for a while. It was an enthusiastic mouth-to-mouth action with a little bit of groping and a little bit of hair pulling - on my end. His words had always sent me into a completely dazed, tranced state. All I’d want to do would be to kiss him and
kiss him
, even when my lips were sore or swollen or both.

I hugged his waist after, sighing deeply, and I knew I had fallen a little bit in love with him as his arms tightened around me and his chin stopped just at the top of my head, resting there like it wanted to stay there.

5:07p.m.

I had driven
to my apartment with Wyatt following behind me. It was the first time I realized that he drove an old Jeep Wrangler, colored a dull silver. When I had approached the vehicle after parking my car in my designated spot, I noticed the paint wasn’t peeling, and when I got in through the passenger side, I saw that the interior was leather, nice, and definitely taken care of. It
was
Wyatt’s vehicle, after all.

It was comfortable sitting there with him as he drove through Chicago’s busy traffic. He was a calm driver, which calmed me. Usually, I was anxious during moments of silence, but I was surprisingly relaxed. We talked a lot about typical things, and I asked him what it was like driving with just his right hand.