LILY WHITE

TWENTY

TOMMY

A week later.

It's been a long time since Lillie-May and I have talked, it hurts to know that. I've been writing her letters almost everyday, I still cry when I write them.
I've been crying more lately, it feels good to let it out, it doesn't feel good to miss Lillie-May so much. I think I cry more the longer time goes on because I miss her more and more. Each day that goes past feels like another chip away at me.
Most days I just stayed at home, occasionally I went out with my parents and Karlie. Karlie found out she liked to collect seashells, she sang "Karlie sells seashells on the sea shore" the whole time. It helped me take my mind off of Lillie-May, who stayed at home and only went out to go to the market or some other place. I only know that because sometimes I find grocery bags laying around the house and I know it's her.
I stayed up late most nights, hoping to hear her sing. After that day at the beach with my mother, she only sings in her room now.
I've been listening to a lot of music, Mojave 3, mostly, ever since my dream. I listen to a lot of music that makes me feel like I'm just wallowing in my own sadness, like Radiohead and Bon Iver, in a way it makes me feel better about myself. And ever since I remembered that Lillie-May liked Big Thief, I've been listening to them too.
I listen to music when there's nothing else to do in my room, and I'm in there most of the time anyway. I only ever come out when I have to eat or when Karlie misses me. My mother comes up and has to tell me to eat sometimes.
The other day, she talked to me too, like she did to Lillie-May. She told me a lot of things.
"You can't just stay up here the rest of the summer, sweetie." She'd always called me sweetie, just like she did to her. She was always like another child to my mother, I started to see that a long time ago.
"You're going to get hurt in life, that's inevitable, but you can't be upset forever." She said "I know how much this must have hurt you, I wanted it to be her too, perhaps it still will be.
"She's just a hurt little girl. Sometimes we think something we love will hurt us, and so we are scared of it, of what it will do to us. That's no way to live, but it's the way a lot of us do. And when we live like that, eventually we get drained of what life is without love. It is tragic."
It was a gloomy day when she told me that. There was clouds covering the sky and it looked like autumn on the coast. It was still hot outside, but it looked so depressing outside that you would assume it was freezing.
"I live like her too," She continued, "in fear."
Those were the words that made me cry the most. Out of all the days, that one was the one I cried the hardest, in my mothers arms. She held me and I felt like a kid again. I felt like someone had just said something mean to me and I ran to my mom right away, so she could hold me.
"I'm so sorry about your father, Thomas, I never wanted things to turn out this way. You know that I love you, and if I could I would run far away, but I can't, not from your father."
As much as I wanted to tell her that she could, that she should, I stayed silent. I weeped onto her lap, practically screaming, I wailed and told her nothing.
I had never really been that close to my mom, if I had before, I don't remember it. It felt okay, being there with her, completely open and vulnerable.
I also wondered how she knew. But, I didn't question it.
-
Right now, I stare out onto the street in the view of my window. I'd always wanted Lillie-May's room, her view out into the sea is breathtaking, you can see just about everything.
I do really miss being in her room, just being in her company. I took for granted how good it felt to just be by her, taking her in, knowing her and really being there. It felt nice, comfortable, she felt like home.
There are no cigarette smells at night anymore, the night after we talked was the last night I smelled those Camel Golds. It feels like part of her is gone in that way, those little things disappearing felt like losing her a bit more.
The only thing that kept me company was her music, a sign she was still there.
That's the only way I knew she was still alive, in the house. I barely ever saw her. I think I've only seen her two or three times since that day. One time she was downstairs getting something to eat in the middle of the night, I could tell she had been crying.
Another time I saw her come back inside with a bag of new guitar strings and a bar of chocolate. She didn't look at me and rushed to her room, closing the door.
Her door was never open anymore, which was odd, because I never thought I'd noticed until it was always closed. It's weird how much you know about someone and don't notice it until it's unavoidable.
I've been keeping some of my letters out of fear. I don't know why, I've already said enough things to her and done enough things to tell her all the things on my mind, there is nothing to be afraid of. Still, I hold onto these letters and re-read them over and over again. There are some parts that I want to change, but I always decide against it. The rawness is the beauty in writing.
I wished I could write like her. There's something so poetic about the words she writes for her songs and the way she sings them are even more extraordinary. It makes me wonder if she'd learned how to write like that from the books she read or the songs she listened to, but I think she is just built to be that way.
It makes me feel a little ashamed that I will never measure up to who she is. But one day I will be with her and that will be close enough.
I hear a ring next to me and its my cellphone, I already know who it is. Liam has been calling me almost everyday to try to get me out on the break and go surf and drink beer. "Like normal teenagers," he said. But, it's not normal, not really. It's pitiful, what people will do for the kick of rebellion.
I don't think I ever recovered my relationship with Liam, or any of the boys for that matter, I don't know if I ever will. When they saw me with Lillie-May, a true part of themselves came out, a bad part. I can't blame them for being like everyone else, but I also can't disregard it. I would do anything to protect her.
Even at the party that I didn't know why I went to, Liam still somehow made her seem lower than who she was. She is not Milly, she is my Lillie-May.
I pick up the phone, irritated. Liam shouts a couple words, telling me that everyone is going to the club because the bouncer would let everyone in without ID.
I grunt before I say, "No, Liam, I'm not going."
He asks me "Why?" over and over and over again. It makes me angry, it really does.
"Because I don't want to be part of your bullshit parties and bullshit alcohol, Liam! If you ever really knew me you would know I hate it."
He's silent for a bit, maybe taken aback by a sudden outburst that I myself had not expected. After a few seconds, he said he thought I was just a normal guy who liked to surf, and who liked surfing liked partying. He kept going on about how it was weird that I didn't drink and how quiet I was.
That is what made me really angry. I hated being called quiet, especially as a kid. I never had the urge to constantly speak. I liked people watching, I liked being in people's company without a word being said. I hated when people made me feel "weird" for the way that I was.
Liam really aggravated me then. I hung up on him while he was still speaking. I stood up and grabbed another piece of paper and a pen, writing almost subconsciously.
I wrote to Lillie-May without even thinking, like putting her name on the top of the paper was just becoming a habit. I wanted her to know me, every part of me. I wanted her to know exactly how I felt, exactly when I felt it. I wanted to tell her everything, and if letters were the only way to do so, so I would
I started crying again as a note that was supposed to convey my anger turned into a love-letter. I was still mad, still upset, something ignited in me that wasn't just about Liam and it was all coming out on paper.
The rawest form of me, someone so open that I wrote about, and it was me. I worried that Lillie-May would think this was too much, but I knew that she wasn't capable of unrighteous judgment and that made me feel better.
After I finished the letter, I needed to get out of my room. I was drowning in the thick mist of agitation. I picked up all of my letters on the way out, and without thinking, I shoved everything under Lillie-May's door, where I could see light peeking under.
I stormed down the stairs to greet a dimly lit beach. The only thing illuminating my way was the streetlights on the other side of the house and the moonlight from up above.
I walked along the shore for a long time, looking out unto the clearing. The sky was pitch black and the wind touched me in all the right places. Against my skin, right inside of my hair and massaged my scalp. There was a new sense of peace there, I liked it outside.
I strolled along for a long ways, until I reached the creek. It took a long time by foot, not so long by bike or car. I've came here a few times during these past couple days, I find that its comforting.
It does upset me that Lillie-May is not with me when I'm here. It feels wrong. This should be our spot, she should be soaking wet in nothing but her bra and shorts, just like last time. We should be here together, nothing but love and companionship, no lust or ill intention.
I'm sitting on the rock for hours. Nothing entertains me but the sound in my own head and the movement of the water below me. Everyonce in a while I hear a rustling in the leaves or a car drive by from far, far away.
Just the creek is enough, it helps me grieve. I think everytime I come here, though, that another sliver of me loses a little hope.
I can't lose hope, not yet. It's only been a week, not yet. One day, no matter how long it takes, she will realize that we need each other, and I will be waiting.
I will always wait for her. If we are on our deathbeds after living sad lives without each other, I will still be waiting as I slowly die. If she starts forgetting things, I will help her remember my name, remember her songs and her music. I will keep telling her those things until she remembers, and if she never does, I will die trying.
I will do that because I would pay anything to be with her, to simply have more time.
As I'm deep in thought, tears start to trickle down and unto my clothes.
I feel a hand on my shoulder.
Then it starts hugging me from behind.
So warm, she feels.