The Summer They Really Lived

Nouns

Charlie

"It really is a shame how much you don't like yourself when there's so much to like."

Those were the last words Martha said to me and I think anybody. Sweet and straight to the point, just how she knows I like it. Then she disappeared. I don't blame her though. She was struggling and death was her last escape. It wasn't suicide but she did try and put herself in harm's way. Taking too many pain relievers in the same hour, not a single caution while crossing the street, walking alone in the red light district across town. Something was bound to happen to her at some point. I do blame myself for not stopping her even though I know she's happier this way, where ever she is.

She went to heaven, I know it. There's not way she could not have. She was a sweet person, willing to do anything for anyone, but at the same time, wouldn't take crap from anybody. God blessed her. She deserves whatever she gets up there.

I feel bad for Delilah though. She loved Martha so much, maybe more than me, and the last thing she said to her was so cruel, I can't repeat it. She doesn't even know I know about it. But I'm sure Martha doesn't blame her. They were fighting and Delilah has a temper. She even gets mad when I say that God loves Martha and she's with Him now. She doesn't want to hear it. I know she'll never see things my way but that's okay. She's always been that way since we were little and I don't expect her to change. She even believes that one day, Martha will be back; that she isn't actually dead and is just taking a little vacation from us. "She always wanted to go to New York," she would say. "Maybe she's there now."

Shhhrikk, shhhrikk, shhhrikk. I drag my feet along the gravel, clouds of gray dust following close behind and the hot California sun beating down painfully on my back. I hop onto the train tracks, balancing, and run all the way down to where the track branches off into three directions and where Delilah is already waiting, leaning against the railroad sign and a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She looks up when she hears the gravel crunch beneath my feet and gives me a lazy smile. "'Bout time you got here."

"Hey, not my fault my mom likes to stay for all of mass which, if you were unaware, takes forever."

"Yeah but it is your fault that you even want to go in the first place," she whines. "It always gets in the way of us hanging out."

I scoff and plop down beside her, coughing slightly from the second-hand smoke. "Do you have to smoke those? It makes me sick."

"Me too." She gives a slight cough. "And yes, I have too. You really don't want to see me go cold turkey." She takes a long drag and blows the smoke right into my face. I sputter, heaving harshly and she laughs lightly.

"Thanks for that," I grumble. We're quiet for a few moments more when I break the too heavy silence. "Hey, I gotta ask you a question."

"Ask away," she insists, leaning back against the pole.

"What are you going to do? With Martha being gone, I mean."

She stiffens and snuffs out her smoke, squishing the lit end on the concrete and flicking it away. "I'd prefer not to answer, if that's alright with you Chuck."

I turn towards her and place a comforting hand on her shoulder, which she quickly shakes away. That was to be expected. "It's not actually. Ever since she died-"

"She's not dead!!" Delilah looks shocked at her own outburst and sighs, dragging a hand over her face. "She is not dead, okay? She's just going away for a little while. She'll be back, I know it."

"You have to face the truth, De. She's not coming back."

"You don't know that. No one does, except her. Not like the police found her body."