Sound of a Broken Drum

Epilogue

A broken drum does not feel.
A broken drum does not weep.
A broken drum just keeps beating.
A broken drum doesn't ask why
A broken drum knows no goodbye.
It is the sound of a machine that is trying.

It's been a year since that day. To be honest, there's not much to say. Things just kind of returned to the way it was before. I'm still at Kola's with Jamal, Ross, and the rest of them. Jamal and I are good friends. We hang out sometimes when he is doing something outside of work. With he and his friends. It is pretty chill. They all seem cool. We usually listen to music and talk. Though I mostly just listen.

Mom calls like she usually does. She is glad I was able to stick with the medication. She cares about me. I care about her, that's why I do it. Sometimes we see each other. She seems happy enough when I see her. Our conversations are usually about the same. But we always say 'I love you'.

Sometimes I go for walks around the city. I still see the same people. The same couples on park benches, on the buses, in the cafes, everywhere. I still smile at everybody. Still learning how to mean it. But I'm getting there.

It's all the same. Everything is the same. As before.

I still miss fucking miss her. Charlotte. I still think about her when I fall asleep, hoping she will infiltrate my dreams so I could see her again in some way. The other times, I have to keep reminding myself that she wasn't real, as a way to try and move on. But how do I really know that? If she was never real, then how could I feel this way about her? Charlotte felt more real than any person I have ever met. More than anyone. How is that possible?

I still go to the places we used to go. Alone. It's not the same but still feels like something. I got what is left of my memories but I never quite remember them the way I want to. It is like a dream that has slowly faded into obscurity after you wake. It's like I've been awake for too long to remember now. For a while, I still held this fantasy that she would pop in again through my door and tell me it was all a prank, a big joke. That we could stay at home together and do absolutely nothing again. And things would be like the way they were.

I know it'll never be true. I'm learning to know that.

And then sometimes I actually think I feel her. It's really subtle, like a heart beat. Like an energy swarming me. I just feel so warm and hold onto it until it passes. It always passes but still, it makes me wonder who or what Charlotte actually is. Or was?

Did I really just create her out of my imagination? Is my imagination really that good where I could create someone like Charlotte to fill a void? A coping mechanism, as Hana would describe it. A mindless marionette to do or say what I wanted her to do. Somehow my brain was pulling the strings without me even knowing. But then, wouldn't I just be playing a joke on myself? Why would I do that?

I still hope sometimes that Charlotte is actually real. Not a person I've met but someone living and breathing somewhere else in the world. At this very moment. Or even somewhere else in the universe, at the very least. She deserves that much. To be more than just an imagination or an idea I created. Maybe we had somehow tapped into each other's psyche because we matched on the same level. Some kind of cosmic intervention, a break in the way things normally worked. And for that short time, we existed with each other as reality bent forwards.

Maybe I will meet her again someday. That's what helps me get up each morning. That minuscule sliver of a chance. From another idea that may not be real either.

It's absolutely heart-wrenching sometimes because it is different from losing someone who you knew. Not knowing if they were real to begin with. Not knowing if you might actually see them again. Still hoping you might.

Except... I know... I get it.

But I'll always wait for her. Charlotte, as whatever she is or was, whether she is a person or a spirit or merely a delusion in my head, Charlotte... she deserves that much.