Writings

Marcus

I was ten years old when the new neighbors moved in across the street.

Kids at school whispered about the new kid. He was a boy. And he came from Ireland.

Grandma asked me if I had met him yet. I said no.

She smiled and told me to go knock on his door. Maybe he would like to come over, she said.

So I did. I put on my sneakers and smoothed my brown hair and did just that.

I knocked twice in a row. A man came to the door smoking a cigarette. He grumbled.

He asked me what I was there for, so I told him my grandma wanted me to invite the new kid over.

He chuckled and said no.

Marcus couldn't play, he said. He was needed around the house.

Years went by and he never showed up to school.

The kids stopped talking about him. No one talked about the new kid anymore.

Everyday after school I would find myself looking out the window at his house, waiting to see if I could catch him. But he never showed.

My grandma got real sick with cancer and I took her to the hospital for her appointments. One day, I never expected to see him there.

It was easy to tell who he was. He looked just like the man at the door years ago, his father.

He was cute. Blonde hair and green eyes, a smile. He was talking to one of the nurses and laughing at something she said.

I approached him and smiled. He stopped laughing and stared at me.

I asked if he was Marcus from across the street and he said yes.

I asked if he was homeschooled and he said yes.

I asked what he was doing here and he didn't say anything.

He left. As he was leaving, his hospital bracelet fell off.

I picked it up and looked at it. He was sixteen and here for the cancer ward.

He had cancer.

My heart broke. That's why he never left his house, or if he did, I was never around to witness it.

A few days went by and I saw him again at the bookstore.

I said hello and asked if he wanted to get lunch sometime, and he said yes.

We ate lunch together for two years. We ended up becoming friends. Which soon ended up in us dating.

At my high school graduation, he attended along with my grandma.
He handed me a bouquet of flowers and kissed my cheek. He was everything to me.

Five years has passed since he died. He passed away in a car crash the day after my graduation.

My grandma attended his funeral, along with his father. I stayed home.

I blamed myself for his death. I should have driven that day instead of him. He wasn't feeling well and had a headache.

The car that came into our lane and crashed into us was being driven by a drunk driver. He took Marcus' life.

Weeks went by and the flowers and cards piled up in his father's driveway.

I made the bathroom my bedroom. The toilet became my best friend.

I missed Marcus. My grandma missed him too.

She said I needed to eat and sleep. I told her no. I would just end up throwing up and I couldn't sleep due to nightmares.

She brought me a test one night and told me to take it. Marcus had been gone for eight weeks now.

I took it and she held my hand and told me if it was positive she'd be there for me.

It was. I cried. Marcus wasn't here.

Five years have passed since that night. I'm tucking in my four year old son and kissing his head.

He smiles at me and shuts his eyes. For a second, I see Marcus in him.

I let him know I love him, and he says he loves me too.

He asks me when he can see grandma and grandpa again. I tell him on Sunday. We'll eat dinner at grandmas house and grandpa will come over with his favorite ice cream.

He smiles and goes to sleep. I wipe the tears that are falling.

Marcus should be here with me. He should be able to watch our son grow up. But he isn't.