The Moments

Chapter Twenty-Five

JORDAN WILLS

One day until the funeral and I think I am doing okay.

From the moment I woke up today, I was thinking. The kind of thinking that demands silence, the kind of thinking that glues your eyes to a wall, the kind of thinking that freezes you in place and takes hold of you. I think about how I could talk to Lucas about dad, I think about how I could fix things with Lisa, but mostly, I think about what I will say tomorrow.

I don't want to read directly from a series of note cards, for some reason that doesn't seem genuine. I want the things I say to be important enough that I remember them, I want to leave people speechless. I try to piece it all together in my mind, the perfect eulogy, but at some point I come to the conclusion that there are just too many important things to say and if I don't start writing them down, I will lose them all.

So I jot down a few speaking points and I search the web for inspirational quotes, looking for things that I think Madelyn would like. I keep finding all the quotes cheesy. I'll read one, and for a second I'll like it, but then I try to comprehend what makes it so important, I try to find some deeper meaning, and I just end up psychoanalyzing it completely and deciding that I hate it. This goes on for a while, and I begin to think that it's just my naturally negative mindset that makes me dislike all of them, but then I find the tactic that helps me differentiate between my picky taste, and an actually bad quote.

I start reading them in Madelyn's voice.

Suddenly they all seem kind of revolutionary and I find it really hard to pick just one. It starts to become sort of overwhelming, my mind starts getting louder and louder, begging me to make a choice and stop falling down this hole. I don't want to panic, I don't want to breakdown. I've done that enough and it just feels stupid to let something as simple as picking a quote tear me up.

I decide to take a break. I stand up and walk into my bathroom. It's messy, just like the rest of my room, but it's the comfortable kind of messy. There is clutter, but nothing is disgustingly dirty or horribly out of place. It's an organized disaster and maybe it should stress me out, but instead the sight quells my anxiety. I move towards the sink, dragging my hand over the smooth, marble counter top. It is cold under my palm and I feel myself getting calmer and calmer. I splash some water on my face, leaning over the sink, eyes squeezed shut so I can focus on nothing but the sound of running water. I imagine a stream, a river. Dipping my feet in as the water splashes at my shins. The smell of sunshine and a recent thunderstorm. I am transported to somewhere tranquil and magnificent.

Then I open my eyes and oddly enough, that feeling stays with me. I see my reflection in the mirror, staring deep into my own eyes until I've convinced myself I am looking at a person who isn't me. He doesn't look like me, at least not the me I remember. He looks well rested, he has a mouth capable of grinning, eyes that can sometimes light up when he gets excited. His brown skin seems to glow, and the godforsaken acne on his cheeks appears to be fading. And when I've detached myself from him, when I've briefly manage to believe that I am not looking at myself, I see a guy that I really like. I see a guy that could do some really awesome things if he tried. I see a guy who could make people happy. I see a guy capable of picking a quote.

Right above that guy, I see the words of who he used to be.

I see the words I wrote the day I woke up in the hospital, the day I met her.

Don't think for too long, somebody will take you out.

Those words feel so empty, so hopeless. They bring this kind of cold feeling, this feeling that sadness is eternal and the only escape is death. And who I was when I wrote that, is not who I am now. I believed it then, but now I can find it in me to be grateful that I thought for too long. I am grateful I was tackled, I am grateful I was hospitalized, and I am grateful that everything happened just the way it did.

I reach my hand up and scrub away the writing. It's been there for a while, so it clings to the glass, but it isn't coherent anymore. I pick up the same dry erase marker that I used to write that and scrawl onto the mirror stay.

It's painfully simplistic, and could mean so many things, but to me it is glaringly obvious. I mean it very literally. Just stay. That's all. That's all you have to do.

I walk out of the bathroom and sit back down. The pencil in my hand doesn't feel as heavy anymore. My head is clearer. I can navigate through it and distinguish important thoughts from intrusive ones. So I start to write and things just start to come together. At some point, I stop having to focus so hard on what word to write next, my brain produces ideas faster than my hand can put them down on paper.

Words, with their incredible potential and alarming capabilities, stop being enemies. They become more like sidekicks, tools. Instead of taunting me, they guide me. Instead of threatening me, they soothe me. I am comforted by the realization that some of the feelings that I can't handle can be communicated. I didn't think they could and I'm realizing now that it's because I never tried.

As the sun sets, my brain slows. My hand starts to lag, stalling mid-sentence, searching for what to scrawl out next. I want it to flow, I want the cadence to be right, I want to prove to anybody who is doubting it that words are strong and beautiful. Unfortunately, my inspiration is dwindling. I am almost done, just my closing thought left to figure out, but I can't think of anything that sums up everything. You can't summarize the life I've lived this past year, It can't be put simply, it needs pages upon pages, hours upon hours. You can't summarize a life.

I open my phone and do something I did a lot the week Madelyn died, but haven't done in a while. I start going through all of out texts.

Most of it is boring. It starts with me convincing her to meet me in the parking lot, her saying no, me being unrelenting. Then, as we got closer, the conversations turned to Q and A's. Favorite color? Food? Animal? Do you have siblings? What would you bring to a deserted island? She gave boring answers at first, I could always tell that she didn't mean those responses, she just wanted to seem normal. I laugh now, thinking about how silly that is. Madelyn Sheen? Normal? I would've never fallen in love.

Then we get to my favorite conversation ever. A debate over whether to shower in the morning or at night.

I know, it sounds stupid, it sounds boring, but it was consuming. It was the moment I realized that I was happy with her. It was the moment I realized just how good she made me feel. The week she died, after I read those texts, that conversation, I felt so sad. I felt so sad because I remembered the moment in which I discovered how euphoric it was to talk to her, and now I couldn't have that feeling any more.

But it's different now. As I read it again, I feel different. I feel that happiness. It is faint and dim in contrast to the sadness, but it has the potential to be bigger than the bad feelings. I cling onto it.

I don't actually care when you shower, she writes. Do whatever makes you happy.

And I know I'm reading too much into it. I know she didn't mean it as some deep, obscure, beautiful, inspirational quote, I know it is just my state of mind write now twisting words to seem like more than what they are, but I take that simple statement to heart.

Do whatever makes you happy.

I've heard it before, but now I am hearing it in her voice. Now it feels true.

So I think about it for a moment. What makes me happy? What can I do to make my world a little brighter right now?

I can finish this eulogy, I can take a hot bath, I can breath in and out slowly, and I can allow myself to find something similar to peace. I can do these things. It's never been reliant on anything or anybody. It is simply my choice. I can't just decide to be happy, but I can decide to do things that make me happy.

So I decide to take a break and eat some dinner.

I have a long day tomorrow.

I decide to make the best of it.