Moving on
by Cheryl, posted on March 18th, 2011 in Red Writing Hood
This piece is a work of fiction. It is a continuation of this story. It was inspired by the prompt, “Detour” by The Red Dress Club.
Moving on.
What a joke.
They had danced around this for almost a year.
“You’re still so young,” Kristi said, perched on the edge of my couch. “Justin wouldn’t want you to be alone forever.”
Tears filled my eyes. I didn’t even notice them much anymore, didn’t bother to wipe them away. I’ve had this conversation with her before. With other friends. With my mother.
And still, nobody got it.
They didn’t understand how every single morning I woke up reaching for him. How his absence still sucked the wind out of me.
They were tired of my grief. To me, it was my blood. If I let go of it, I let go of Justin. The life we’d shared. The future we’d planned – the babies, the house in Evanston or Highland Park, the security, the passion, the laughter. The way he knew I hated coffee but loved coffee ice cream.
It would all float away like a brightly-colored balloon and I could do nothing but watch it disappear into the clouds. And be left with nothing.
Nothing.
“Cam, listen to me,” Kristi said. She stood and put her hands on my shoulders. I looked up into her eyes, also filled with tears. “I love you. You’re my best friend. Your life is not over at 26. You are alive with so much ahead of you. This would break Justin’s heart. It’s breaking MY heart.”
“You don’t understand. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended.
“I know it’s not. Of course it’s not. But this is how it is, and I don’t want to lose you, too. Please, Cam, go talk to someone. Do something for yourself.”
I hung my head.
“I get you’re trying to help, Kristi. I do. I just miss him so goddamn much. I don’t even know who I am without him. I don’t want to know.”
She took my hands.
“You’re a beautiful, smart, strong woman. You have people who love you and would do anything for you. You have so much to give and you’ve been shut down for so long. Please, Cam.”
She reached for the card she’d put on the coffee table earlier and held it out to me. I had to take it. She’s Justin’s sister. I could give her at least this.
“Okay, ” I said, glancing at the name of the therapist printed on it in black. I just wanted her to go and leave me alone with my pain.
Soon after she left, I tossed the card onto my nightstand and crawled back under the covers, hugging the Chicago Bears sweatshirt of Justin’s I’d slept with since he died.
Then I sat back up.
I Â grabbed the silver-framed wedding picture I kept on the nightstand and traced Justin’s features. It terrified me that sometimes I couldn’t quite picture him. Just parts of him, like the perpetual shadow on his jaw, the small crescent scar above his eye where his brother hit him with a light saber when he was 7. The horrible truth was he was starting to fade, like jeans left hanging on the line in the sun for too long.
The card Kristi gave me caught my eye as I carefully set the frame back in its place.
I looked back at Justin’s smile as he pressed his face into mine.
He loved me, so much.
I picked up the phone.
Tags: detour, fiction, red writing hood, the red dress club
Cheryl Reply:
March 18th, 2011 at 8:43 pm
No, it’s about a year later. Originally I had her be a little angrier, but I think she actually IS ready. Also, she’s a little more gentle with Kristi because she’s Justin’s sister. Thanks for the concrit – much appreciated!!
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