Her hand was soft. The feeling of her hand in mine could move me to tears. I always squeezed her hand before closing my eyes knowing she would be gone when I reopened them. The first few times she would walk away, a tear would find its way out of my tightly shut eyes. Night after night of doing this, eventually the squeeze got tighter and the tears stopped coming. My final tears came the night I squeezed too hard, the last time I was afraid to let go.
Orange shards embedded themselves in my hand. Her gentle hand was replaced with stabbing pain, her sweet voice replaced by the shattering of plastic, a tear drop switched for drops of blood. Another kitchen sink surgery began, stitching me back together like an old stuffed animal that you can never bring yourself to get rid of, only to end with the sinking feeling that this is not the last time I will be here. When the morning comes, I will need to get a new bottle.
***
I wonder if she was real. Perhaps somebody I passed on the street, saw in a picture online or knew as a friend of a friend. Of course, she was real. Her name is Kolaiah, but she was my Lulu. I always called her Kat, but I will never forget when she asked me to call her Lulu. I can't remember why that name was special to her, but when her mom started calling her that, she asked me to stop. Years later, she was Kat, but she was my Lulu.... She was my Lulu.
In the winter, we made snow angels. We made them in sets of three because she heard somewhere that two people can still feel alone, and we could not let our snow angels feel alone. She would roll on top of me so she could make the third. While she was moving from one side of me to the other, she would pause when we could stare at one another. I would give her a gentle kiss on her nose and her cheeks would become red to match. Over time, the third angel became a dog.
During the spring, we would sit on the porch and listen to the weather, be it rain or storm. Kolaiah, my princess puppy named after my princess person, was afraid of the thunder and would crawl in my lap. I would hug her tight until she would stop shaking. I would hold her at night until she fell asleep in my arms or to the rhythmic rise and fall of my chest, breathing if for no reason other to keep her asleep.
Through the summer, we would go hiking. Kolaiah and I could take a day and wander the local woods, only to come home exhausted and ready for bed. She would sleep on the way home. The adorable noises she made in her sleep made my heart flutter. They never became full words, but I suppose it would not have mattered anyway. Her dreams sounded pleasant enough and she slept soundly. Getting back home, I would pick her up and carry her to the couch. When she woke up, she would smile, yawn and find a little food.
The arrival of autumn brought out the colors of the leaves. Reds and yellows covered the once green grass like sheets on a bed. Kolaiah romped through the yard as I was hard at work raking leaves. She would wait for the pile to be large enough for her to jump into and land softly. She would sneeze and smile, happy to be included. As annoying as this got to be, I would let her enjoy the simple childish pleasures of the fall.
As snow would fall again, the world trapped me within myself. The wintery nights turned the window from one of space to one of time. The world became a snow globe, a moment forever captured in white blanket.
At 16, I put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. I spent that Christmas as a cocktail of misery. One part angry, one part sad, another part confused and one hundred parts alone. It was Christmas day when Kolaiah first felt my loving embrace. My sweet puppy and my Lulu were the only ones who could bring life back to my dying soul.
There were never any snow angels. Kolaiah no longer fears the thunder, leaving me to my thunder alone. The long hikes in the woods are spent in silence, as they always were. Without her puppy energy, Kolaiah would rather bask in the sun and watch me rake the leaves than jump in the piles. My hot breath against the window reminds me of how much I am unsure of.
***
These past four years have been difficult without you. If you are out there, and if you do see this, I miss you. I never stopped loving you. It changed from something romantic to something of an addiction. I fed my addiction, I thought that is what you have wanted me to do. The hallucinations are gone and my mood has stabilized, but the nightmares... they never go away.
There is just one weird thing, medicine bottles are not usually warm.
