"goodbye mike." the girl had said to him, in a weak and vulnerable tone. he felt as if the weight of a thousand elephants was pinning him back against the cupboard of D107, his biology classroom. he couldn't get up, he couldn't get to her. he screamed and kicked, trying to free himself from the hold she had put him in, as she knew all too well he would do anything to save her. but she didn't need saving. the boy let out an ugly sob as the burnt dust of his first love fell to the floor, and he was finally free of the restraints. the pain he felt was unlike any other. it wasn't like the pain he had experienced when he had to attend his friend will's funeral, because he knew it was all fake. this pain, the pain he felt as he desperately cradled the black dust, screaming that she came back, this was the new low.
~
the boy woke up in a sweat, and realized that the wet thing coating his face was tears. he rubbed them away, and got up to change out of the damp pajamas, and into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. his face was red, and moist with tears and sweat. his torso was thin, too thin. he exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath. mike pulled the base sheet off of his bed, and replaced it with a blanket he had found in the basement. her blanket. he curled himself up in it, knowing that he could no longer smell the sweet scent she had left, of his big sister's perfume, mixed with something unique to the girl he had loved. her name was eleven— and he didn't save her.
no, mike. he can't do this to himself, at least not this late at night. he couldn't keep blaming himself, but he did. nightly. the pillow was too warm, so he flipped it over, and tried to fall back asleep. he couldn't. so, he just lied there, on a spring night in 1987, trying to forget the past, his first time feeling butterflies, his first kiss, his first time falling in love.
no. he was a senior in high school, and he had so much to live for, without the crushing weight of guilt he felt. why didn't she let him save her?
was it because she didn't need saving? was she ready to leave him? to give up on him? was he a lost cause? he knew that without her, he was. his friends teased him at first, for still trying to chase after a girl who he barely knew.
but he did know her. he knew that she had sixty three freckles on her nose, he had counted them himself, on a sleepless night like this, when all he had left of her was a blanket and a polaroid picture that jonathan byers had given him. in the picture, she was bundled up in a towel, leaning her head against his shoulder, and he looked anxious. mike, why didn't you enjoy her in that moment? why didn't you tell her everything that you had felt over that week? was it because you didn't know? was it because you were afraid?
he let himself slowly be engulfed in the drowsiness that was his sleep deprived state, and the last thing he saw that night was the time. 11:00.
