Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

He's Still There

Collin

We didn't even have a destination.

Just Erin's hands on the wheel, cassette deck humming low, the summer night pouring in through the half cracked windows like syrup. We drove in silence for a long time, past cornfields and convenience stores that blurred into each other. I had the letter in my lap, folded and unfolded so many times it was soft like cloth now.

"I can't breathe," I said finally. My voice cracked like I'd been holding it underwater. "Like - I can't get enough air. I feel like I'm crawling out of my own skin."

Erin glanced at me, her mouth pressing into that quiet, serious line she got when she was worried.

"Talk to me."

So I did. I spilled.

I told her about the suitcase. The polaroids. The diner receipt. The ghost costume and the album he bought me still wrapped in plastic like I'd been too scared to let myself remember. And then the letter. The letter. The one I hadn't known existed. The one that made everything unravel in my hands.

I told her what my mom said. What Derek said. The way I screamed on the floor. The way I couldn't even bring myself to unpack - because if I did, it would be real again. All of it.

When I finished, Erin didn't say anything right away. She just kept driving, like she was letting the weight of it settle.

Eventually, she sighed. "So what now?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what do you want?"

"I want to stop feeling like this," I snapped, sharper than I meant to. "I want to stop thinking about him. I want to stop missing him so much I can't even listen to music without wanting to scream."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. But do you want him?"

My throat closed.

I looked out the window. "My mom told me to chase it."

"Good."

"Derek told me to chase it."

"Even better."

I whipped around to face her. "So how the hell am I supposed to not chase it when even the two most grounded people I know are telling me to run toward the fire?"

Erin blinked. "That's literally what I'm asking you."

I let out this horrible sound, half laugh, half sob. "I'm scared, Erin."

"I know."

"No, like really scared. Like, what if I go after him and it's not the same? What if he's changed? What if I have? What if it breaks all over again and I'm left worse off than before?"

She pulled into her driveway and threw the car in park, then turned to face me fully. The porch light buzzed behind her.

"Collin," she said, slow and steady. "I watched you fall apart for months. You didn't eat. You barely slept. You were a ghost in your own house. And yeah, you've started to crawl back but you don't get to pretend like this doesn't still live in you. You're in love with him. And you're terrified. But you don't get to use that as an excuse to freeze."

My hands were shaking.

She opened her door, slammed it shut, then came around and pulled me out of the passenger seat by the wrist.

"We're going inside. You're gonna drink some water. And then we're gonna figure out what the hell we're doing."

I nodded, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding and followed her inside.