Because I Promised

Nineteen | "Yes"

Have you ever experienced a loss so great that you feel like you'll never recover? The kind of loss that plagues you in every way and follows you into your dreams? The kind of loss that suffocates you? The kind of loss that words fail to describe?

Alison is that loss for me. The loss of her life and our love is one that haunts me in my nightmares and causes me to gasp for air. People rarely write books or movies about what happens after the heroine is gone. And that's really what Alison is. She's the heroine of this story. I'm no hero, nor can I fool myself into believing I am.

            From the second I heard the words come from my parents' mouth to the second my eyes landed on the date scrawled atop the last page of the journal, my life has been this never-ending cycle of pain and panic and grief that I don't wish upon anybody else. I wouldn't wish this pain upon my greatest enemy.

            This is the kind of pain that digs to the deepest parts of your heart and just numbs it. Similar to burning your skin with ice, so too does this kind of pain. One does not just recover from this pain.

            As I stand with the salty ocean water crashing around my bare ankles and the loose pages from Ali's journal clutched between my shaking fingers, I know what I need to do to relieve myself of some of the pain. With my eyes closed and body strong against the waves, my fingers release the weathered pages, sending them into the water. My eyes are forced closed, a dam against the tears threatening to spill. The last thing Ali left me returning to the place she left me. It's poetic really.

            By the time I open my eyes and allow the salt water to assault them, the pages are a mere memory. Pulled into the current, they disappear and drift further away from me. I try to imagine them floating amongst the fish and seaweed but what I want is for them to be destroyed. I want the water to dissolve them until there's nothing left. I want the ocean to rip them apart like the words on them ripped me apart. I want there to be nothing left so that maybe I can begin to rebuild what's left of me.

            My feet carry me before my mind can catch up. Before I know it, I'm climbing the steps to the abandoned looking house and my knuckles are rapping against the front door so violently that they could break. I'm met with eyes identical to hers. They are so similar I'm caught off guard.

            "Jordan? What are you doing here?" Alison's mom stands before me, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

            "Can I ask you something?" The voice coming from my throat is not one I recognize as my own. It is raw and desperate.

            "Anything dear. Come on in and sit down. You look ragged." Even with her voice soft and warm, I can see the dark in her eyes. I can see the part of her that died with Ali. I want to reach out and tell her they are not alone, that they are allowed to suffer and that I am too. She gestures me towards the kitchen table I've sat at a thousand times. I pull the chair out and lower myself into it slowly, afraid my knees might give out. "Can I get you some tea or water?"

            "Water please."

            I notice the way her hands shake when she isn't using them. I can't figure out when she aged so quickly. I don't remember her looking so old at Ali's funeral, or before she was sick. Grief takes a toll on everyone.

            When she's sitting down, her hands wrapped around her teacup and a glass of water placed in front of me, she tilts her head at me. "What did you want to ask me?"

            I open and close my mouth several times, trying to find the words. I try to force them from my mouth but it just doesn't seem right.