The Bartender

September 7th

Shawn was being cold and distant with her for the entire next week. She hadn't thought much of it when he didn't respond to her text about the Shirley Temple but the next day at work he almost seemed to be avoiding her. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Today, she came into work only to see another one of the waitresses, Jessie, standing behind the bar instead of Shawn. Dolly stood at the soda fountain pouring some drinks.

"Dolly..." Camila greeted. "Where's Shawn? Is he sick today?" God, she hoped he was just sick. Or maybe he just took a day off. If he quit she was going to be so upset, especially if it had something to do with her. You're overthinking it, she told herself. Dolly sighed, bring Camila out of her thoughts.

"Today's September 7th, isn't it?" she asked. Camila nodded. "He always takes September 7th off. We don't know why." Camila knit her brows together in concern. Her instincts told her to send him a text but it's not like he'd respond anyway. She just shrugged it off.

"Oh. Okay."

-

Shawn stood in front of his closet with a towel wrapped around his waist. Everything felt heavier today. Not just his body, everything. The air felt heavy. September 7th was just a heavy day in general. He took a deep, calming breath before reaching into his closet and pulling out the same t-shirt he wore every time this day came around. It was her favorite shirt of his so he had to wear it for her. He threw on a pair of jeans and his favorite pair of Adidas sneakers as well before giving his hair a quick tousle in the mirror and heading out. 

He got in his car and drove to the local florist — "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something playing loudly on repeat as he drove. It was always her favorite song. The moments where he'd look over at the passenger seat and see her singing along at the top of her lungs were always some of his favorite memories. She'd always smile while singing. She was so happy; they both were.

He pulled into the florist and got out of his car, slamming the car door behind him. It wasn't intentional. Or maybe it was. Even he didn't know at this point. He walked into the small shop silently, picking out one of the pre-made flower arrangements and heading to the counter to pay for them. He picked the one that had the most pink — he always did. It was her favorite color. He always liked to tease her for having such a basic favorite color but she stood firm on her opinion. He loved that about her. She'd never let other people's opinions change what she believed in — even when it came to something as simple as her favorite color. And he had to admit, she always made pink look pretty.

"Have a nice day," the older woman behind the counter said when he finished paying. He didn't respond. Maybe that made him seem like an asshole but he didn't care. It wasn't a nice day. He went back to his car, setting the flower arrangement carefully on the passenger seat before putting the key in the ignition and driving to his destination. 

He didn't even really remember driving there. It's like his mind was elsewhere as he drove because the last thing he actually remembered was pulling out of the florist parking lot and now he was parked at the cemetery. He took a few deep breaths before grabbing the flowers and getting out of his car.

He had no problem finding her. When it first happened he was out here almost every single day. His friends and family told him that it wasn't healthy to keep going back to her every day but they weren't the ones in love with her — he was. Who were they to tell him that his grieving wasn't healthy? 

He stood in front of the grave, his breathing quick and shallow as he tried not to let his emotions get the best of him. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow before stepping forward and placing the flowers on the headstone. He couldn't help but brush his thumb over the etching of her name on the front. He sighed and stepped back again, sitting on the grass next to her. He sat silently for a moment, simply staring at the headstone and the grass was planted in front of it. She was so close to him yet he'd never felt further from her.

"Hi," he said quietly. He shifted uncomfortably. "I feel weird talking to you these days. It used to be easier when I thought that maybe you could hear me but...honestly I don't think you can hear me anymore." He sighed and looked around. He seemed to be the only one there. Well, the only living one. He looked at her headstone again, his eyes scanning the dates. He shook his head. "Four years already." He cleared his throat. "Longest four years of my fucking life. I keep waiting for it to get easier but it doesn't. I wasn't ready to lose you yet. There are so many questions I still need to ask you and no matter how many times I ask them I know you're never going to answer. There's so much I need to say but it doesn't matter because I'm just talking into the fucking void." His voice cracked. This was always harder than he'd think it would be. "I just miss you, okay? I'm so sorry I couldn't stop this." He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "I should've been there to stop it."