Flash Fictions by Benjamin D. Togate

More than Memories

Triggerwarning: Short Story about Death/Accident.

It had been weeks. Or months. Or years. Who still kept track? I didn't. I had no idea how long it had been since I last saw his smile and heard his voice. It might have been days. But it felt like forever. Yet I remembered every little detail of the day of the accident. I had gotten up late - because why not? It was the summer break.

Outside was warm and sunny. I still remember how the sun felt on my skin as I left the house. I remember riding my bicycle to his house, how he was already waiting up front waving and how we went together. I remember the day at the lake. We laughed, we swam, jumped into the cool water and held each other down.

I remember laying in the grass together, looking into the sky, talking about the future. I remember how he brushed a strain of hair out of my face. It felt a bit awkward but yet it didn't. And as an awesome summer day turned into evening, I remember how we left the lake, still laughing and having fun and how that car just sped around the corner and took my friend away. That's when my memory gets blurry. But people tell me I was "so brave" and I did "everything I could".

Well, I didn't. Because after that day my friend was gone and I was alone.

I don't remember much after that. That's why I don't remember if days have passed or years. And honestly, I don't even care. All I have done since his passing was eat, sleeep and game. Anything to numb the emptyness inside of me.

I was staring at the ceiling when my mom knocked at the door. I didn't even move.

"Can I come in?"
I didn't say anything.

"Sheana brought something over". His mom.

I slowly turned my head towards her with empty, sad eyes.
My mother was carrying a small, white box. About the size of a shoe box. But it looked prettier. My friend had probably bought it at a dollar store.

"She found this as she was..." my mom chocked "cleaning up his room"

She liked him as well. She had made him dinners - probably more than for me, because he was always hungry. She had known him since he was a baby.

I still didn't say anything. I knew this worried my mom, but I just couldn't.

"I'll put it down here. Whenever you're ready, take a look."
And with these words she left me to myself again.

I didn't take a look. Not yet anyways. Staring at the ceiling seemed more important. He was gone anyways. But when everyone had gone to sleep but me, I finally took that pretty white box. I opened it slowly and deliberatly. Almost like yanking it open could hurt him.

And inside I found...
Memories.

Nothing but pictures taken over his last summer. Some with me. Some with other friends. Taken from his polaroid camera that he had gotten for his 16th birthday. There were pictures of his favorite cars - just random cars he saw parked outside and photographed - there were laughs with friends, the lake, insects and sunsets. These pictures reflected such a happy time. I dug through the polaroids like I was trying to find him in there, but he never came out. I began to sob. I missed him so much. More than he'd ever get the chance to know. He was more than a friend. He was everything to me. And now he was nothing but a box of memories.

I pushed the box away in anger and desparation but regretted it at the same time. They scattered across the floor. All but one picture. It clung to the edge of the bed, barely holding on. Through my tears I grabbed it. And when I saw what was on it, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

It was a picture of the day of the accident. Maybe the last one he ever took. When we were lying in the grass doing nothing. How could I have forgotten this moment?

After he brushed aside that strain of hair he took his camera and held it up to take a selfie of us lying down. At the same time he grabbed my hand, smiled and said "A pic for the grandkids". Which grandkids, I don't know. I think I felt a bit confused but happy.

I took that picture and stuck it to my wall. If he was still alive my other friends would surely make fun of this picture. But with him gone I was brave enough to display our closeness without fear.

I then picked up the rest of the pictures and went outside. It was 2am but it wasn't even dark. The fullmoon was so bright. I didn't take my bike this time. I ran. I ran to the lake, passing the place where it had happened. I soon arrived at out favorite spot. There was a little stream leading into the lake. The water was always cold but clear. Little fish swam around the rocks. We loved sitting and cooling our feet here, talking about nothing and everything.

Today i set myself down right in the middle of the shallow stream. I took the pictures - one after another - and let them go into the lake. All the memories of his most happy last months, going back to nature and the earth. Just like him.

I know it sounds stupid, but this ritual helped me. I was still sad, some days unbarebly sad, but this act of giving him back the memories, frozen in pictures that were taken through his very eyes, helped lift the load a little. I knew, I could go on, with him in my heart.