Us In Red | Gini

Twelve

When Ricky and I first got together, he used to bring me up to his room, and I'd sit on his bed while he sits on the stool by his desk and play a riff he just came up with. I always loved hearing his voice. It was soothing and sweet and made my heart beat three times faster. My favorite part was always the end of the song, because that's when he'd come over and kiss me, and I'd fall into the moment like a penny in quicksand. 

The contrast of back then and right now hacks at every inch of my being. I feel confused as to why his voice sounds like just another voice to me, and mad at myself for not knowing how to find that special feeling again. Most of all, I feel guilty for even feeling any of this in the first place. 

He finishes his song, which, in all honesty, I wasn't paying attention to. Still, I try to smile and pretend I love it. 

"That's so good," I say, my tone a bit too flowery to be believable. 

He sets his guitar down on its stand and looks to me with raised eyebrows. "Are you okay? You seem a little preoccupied."

Of course he can tell that I'm not acting normal. He can always tell when I'm unhappy. At this moment, I really wish he didn't have that ability. 

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Um . . ." I try to think of a real reason to give that isn't about Gina, and although what I say isn't the full truth, it is part of why I'm so glum. "Kourtney was moved to a long-term care facility today."

"Oh." Ricky falls silent, not sure what to say. 

"Gina and I went to see her yesterday," I explain. "She was so still. Honestly, it's been so long since I've seen her eyes open that it kind of feels like she's dead."

Ricky listens, but I can tell that he has no idea how to help me. All I really need is someone to understand me, to say they're as torn as I am, and that we're in this together. Ricky can't say that, because he doesn't understand. He's never been as close with Kourtney as I was. He's lost family before, but only grandparents, whom he never really talked to that often anyway. He could try to say that his mom leaving was similar to this, but it's not. He can still call her and hear her voice if he wants to. He can still talk to her and have her respond. I try to talk to Kourtney, but I question whether or not she's really even there anymore, if she can actually hear anything I'm saying. God, I'd give anything to hear her voice again, hear her singing and see her dancing around her room to try to cheer me up after a bad day. I just want her to be here again. The hardest part of all of this is that I know she's not dead. It might be easier if she were, because then I wouldn't be holding on, uncertain of when or if I'll get my friend back. I don't want to let go, because I don't want to lose her if she does wake. But clinging to this hope and never knowing if I'm going to float or drop is more soul-crushing than I ever thought it something could be. 

"I'm sorry," Ricky utters. 

That's all he has to say, and I can't blame him. How would he ever know what to say right now? The funny part is he used to. He used to always know exactly what to say, exactly how to make me feel better. But he doesn't anymore. 

Being with him has fallen into this grey haze. The feelings I used to have for him have burnt away, becoming only smoke where there used to be fire. I've been clinging onto the memory of it all in the hope that what we had before would relight, and it would feel right again, but that hasn't happened, and I don't think that will ever happen. We're just not the way we were before. We're grey, stuck in this place of feeling safe and certain, where nothing ever changes. Nothing ever sparks. 

Gina is different. Being with her is burning red firelight, fierce and intense. Every second with her is something new, something better than before. The wind changes so rapidly around her, and I'm constantly running to catch up, afraid to let the feeling get away.