Risky Reunion

Whenever I imagined looking over a cliff, I always thought that there were small ridges along the sides to break your fall – or break all of your bones – on the way down. But this cliff, aside from its obvious erosion, was smooth to the bottom. The boulders that jutted out from the crashing waters revealed where the true danger lies. But it was the waves that made the climb worth it. Emerald waters foamed as its tide offered water to the cliff’s base before pulling it back – the undertow would pull any challenger under immediately. This wasn’t a jumper’s cliff, and I knew that. I also knew that during the small moments, when the waves stopped crashing, the water was clear to the bottom – it brought me immense peace, and so I jumped.

Time moves slower than I thought when you’re awaiting your impending death. It moves slowly on every single attempt, but you don’t always see your life flash before your eyes. That only happened the first time – the only time I thought I’d die

It was a week after his funeral. I had been moping around my apartment in a drunken haze. Every time anyone asked if I needed anything, I convinced them that a small bottle of alcohol – their choice of spirit – would take the edge off. For fear of being ousted as the enabler, no one spoke of their gifts to me – I had amassed quite the cellarette.

Randomly, smack in the middle of the day, I had the most intense craving for fried chicken. And not just any chicken, but the double-deep fried 3-piece from Chicky’s on 3rd Ave. It was our favorite spot, and stronger than my sadness about visiting again without him was the desire for the signature crinkle fries.

Upon exiting my apartment building, I noticed that the sun seemed too bright. The colors of the buildings across the street, bright red clay, felt artificial. Nothing felt real about the brightness of the world when such a dark cloud hung over me. I made my way to the bus stop. I no longer drove my car. I had trouble controlling the crying fits, especially when I was alone. So I stopped traveling solo and took up traveling with groups of strangers.

I took to Instagram to escape all-too-bright reality while walking. The notifications alert at the top of my screen revealed that I had 100+ comments, mentions, and DMs that awaited me. I swiped to the Explore page – I hadn’t used my phone in days, I doubted the algorithm knew to show me any posts about death and loss. I moved swiftly through the streets, not taking the time to notice or contemplate how busy they were. My feet knew how to get to Chicky’s even when my mind was lacking – I followed them there.

A singing baby goat – it was a video of a baby goat singing Whitney Houston’s ‘I Have Nothing’ that threatened to do me in. I ran across the post and could not unglue my eyes from the yodeling kid. Whoa, I whispered to myself before my body was shoved into the median of the street, followed by the screeching of tires, and the screaming of women. I looked back in the direction from which I was thrown – from behind billows of smoke was a bus filled with occupants and a busy street of distressed pedestrians, staring at me bewilderedly.

Echoes of muffled voices screaming vibrated my eardrums. But as I looked in the direction of concerned pedestrians, all I could see was Lionel standing amongst them. I refused to blink, fearing that he would disappear as soon as our gazes severed. And as a middle-aged woman ran up to me – shaking me from my shock – she wiped him from my sight.

There were no injuries or casualties that day, although no one understood why. Witnesses recounted watching me quickly step off the curb and into the street as the bus came pummeling my way. The bus slammed on brakes as it neared my body, but no one could see me – safe in the median – until the tire smoke cleared.

“You have a guardian angel watching over you, my dear,” an older lady cooed as she force-fed me fruits and candies from her bag to “make me feel better.” I nodded in contemplation but ignored her prophecies. I was still scanning every face on the street, hoping to see Lionel again.

I never stopped to consider how I survived the incident with the bus. I just knew that seeing Lionel in the crowd made me miss him more. His presence felt real, and the thought of seeing him on the sidewalk made me feel like things were normal – like I could endure. The dark cloud continued to hang over me. If the bus would’ve hit me, I would no longer have to deal with the sadness that came with living without him.

The cloud now consumed my entire body, creating a fog that weighed upon me and choked me with its depressive haze. Memories of birthday celebrations, late-night snacking together in our small kitchen, and passionate lovemaking, burdened me more than I would’ve liked to admit. I was lost without him and I only knew of one remedy. I tried to pray the feelings away, I consulted a licensed therapist on one of those psychologist apps, I even called a suicide hotline and confused some old lady with my thoughts on death – no one and nothing convinced me to change my mind.

I always thought that people who wrote letters before suicide were overly dramatic until I faced that moment head-on. With our favorite bottle of whiskey in hand, I crafted the sweetest farewell with a full explanation of my actions. I took a handful of my prescription Xanax with a swig of Yamazaki, turned on our favorite show on Netflix, and prepared to fall asleep for eternity.

Debbie… Debbie, wake up. What did you do?

The voice called me from my slumber. Had someone found me and my suicide note already? They would try to revive me! I tried harder to will myself closer to death.

Debra. Open your eyes.

The voice became clearer and I began to feel a set of hands shaking my body. I closed my eyes tighter than before.

“Debra, you’re not gonna die. Open your eyes,” I heard his voice clearer than ever before. My eyes shot open to find Lionel’s face hovering above mine.

“I’ve died, and now I’m here with you?” I asked uneasily, eyes still adjusting.

“No,” he smirked as a flash of relief flushed his face. “No, you’re not dead. You’ve been saved, once again. But this seems like it was your intention.” His face darkened as if to reprimand me, but I couldn’t wipe the joy from my eyes.

“So I did see you that day with the bus!” I exclaimed reaching up to grab him, but his hand slipping through my grasp. My heart sank again, he was still dead. “Oh. This is all a dream, isn’t it?”

“Nope, wrong again. You’re alive, I’m dead, and we’re both here – in your bedroom recounting your multiple suicide attempts.”

“There was only one!” I argued.

He looked over me carefully once again before he spoke. “So, this time was an actual attempt of yours?”

I nodded, then diverted my eyes from his. I already knew the pain that they would carry. What was I thinking? Why would I do this to my family and friends? Death was an unfortunate accident on Lio’s part – my attempt was pure selfishness.

“Go rip up that suicide letter now,” his voice dripped with rage. “And then burn the shreds.”

His growl shocked me so much, I ran through him to get to the letter. I destroyed it – ripped it into shreds and lit a candle in which I burned the pieces. When I looked back to my bed, he was gone. “Lio?” I called out into darkness lit by candlelight. “Lio, please don’t go…”

“I’m here,” he walked out from the far corner of the room. And I got a chance to look at him. He wore the same outfit of his last day, I remember because I picked it out for him – a simple white henley with denim and sneakers. His fade looked as fresh as it did as he lay in the casket and his eyes just as loving as ever, the only difference about him was the angelic aura that his skin now shone. “Maybe I should explain.”

Lionel explained that he was now my guardian angel, just as the older lady from the street assumed that day. It wasn’t in a freaky way, like Lio watching my every move and had 24/7 tabs on me. It seemed that if I was distressed or vulnerable, he would sense and be prepared in case of emergencies, and whenever my life was in danger, he’d show up. He told me that he’s seen my drinking binges – I didn’t know how dangerously close I had come to death from alcohol consumption. He told me that he watched my suffering – I also didn’t know that you could technically die from a broken heart. I tried my best to hide my shame.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he tried to explain.

“More like mortified and humiliated. You’ve seen me at my literal lowest, both in life and in death, yet you’re still saving me.”

“I don’t think I have too much of a choice here,” he began before he quickly clarified, “It’s not like I wouldn’t wanna be here to save you – I can’t imagine your death, especially being intertwined with mine. It’s just that… it scares me every time I get an inkling that you’re feeling vulnerable. I didn’t think it was possible in death, but it is and it terrifies me now more than ever.”

“So even when I’m feeling distraught, you’ll show up and I’ll see you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think that’s how it works. I don’t think you’ve seen me before – maybe you’ve felt my presence?”

There were times, between choking sobs, when I felt oddly calm. I didn’t know that he was present, but I instinctively felt at ease. “This must’ve been difficult for you. Watching me fall apart in these destructive ways lately… I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“I’d rather watch you struggle with this, than not to see you at all.”

We spoke briefly that night, but it felt like an eternity. That was until he began to vanish. Then, it felt as though it never happened. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t a dream. I needed to know that Lionel was still around, forever watching. But they say that seeing is believing, and as long as I couldn’t see him I didn’t believe that his presence existed. I only told one person about that night – my best friend, Elicia. She was terrified that I tried to take my life, but more concerned that I had some bad hallucinogenic trip from the mixture of pills that I took, conjuring up a phantasm of Lionel. She was worried that I would stop at nothing to see him again. She was correct.

Since the second rescue, I’ve risked my life countless times: car crashes, slitting of wrists – for dramatic effect, of course – I even accidentally scared myself to death once. Yes, that can happen! And in all those rescues, Lionel never looked as angry as he did now.

“Hi love,” I quickly responded as he lowered both of us down into the mountain ridge’s inlet. His response was silence. His face was stern but felt more discouraged than anything else. “Did something bad happen?”

“You gotta stop doing this,” he replied flatly.

Unsure of how to respond, I didn’t. I simply stared back at him, awaiting further explanation.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. These suicide attempts are becoming increasingly pestilent.”

“Huh? Increasingly pestil…. What are you saying, babe? I’m confused…”

“Stop doing this dumb shit, Debra! I’m sick of it, ” Lionel exclaimed at a pitch that would’ve echoed eternally had he been alive. “Do you know how crazy you look, throwing yourself off a cliff with no expectation of severe consequence? Can’t you imagine how exhausting it is to be alerted of your suicide attempts like some psychotic Bat-signal? You can’t possibly think that I enjoy the pressure of being responsible for a life that you purposefully threaten whenever you’re feeling lonely. What if I don’t make it in time?”

“You’re my guardian angel, you’ll make it in time. That’s how it works, ” I responded quickly, to reassure his apprehension.

He threw his hands in the air and began to pace back and forth, his feet making soft indentations in the wet sand before it magically regained its shape. “Why do you feel like you get to make the rules? ‘I’m always right, let’s just do it my way’, that’s what you always used to say, right? And so, it continues.”

“Wait a minute, we both chose this. We were both enjoying your visits from the afterlife. Now I’m the selfish crazy person for wanting to see my boyfriend in death? Well, I’m sorry that I just love you so much…”

He interrupted me with an exhausted groan, “I’m tired of letting you manipulate me, even in the afterlife.”

My face froze, mouth agape.

“Please don’t sit there and try to pretend that what you’re doing isn’t ‘classic Debra behavior.’ Do you remember when you threw a fit and ruined my first Thanksgiving with your family because I helped your sister mash some potatoes? Once, you were so upset that I had to work late, that you ran over our dog and then called me – sobbing uncontrollably – about a hit-and-run. Our dog endured three surgeries and still died, Debra! You’re just so damn selfish. And this is barely scratching the surface with your bullshit. So here we are again, now with your new scheme – your suicidal missions are only used to control me, just like you’ve been controlling me from the beginning.” He let out a defeated groan and then looked back at me.

“You’ve been waiting a long time to say that, I suppose.”

His face remained hardened. There was a coldness in his eyes. His decision was already made, his mind resolute. He was done with me.

“I’m sorry, I really am. What can I do to fix this? I’ll stop trying to see you for a little while. Won’t that be better? I’ll miss you, but I can do a week or two without you. As long as I know that I can see you again,” I began to plead.

“You can’t compromise your way out of it, not this time. You need to move on, to properly grieve and comprehend what life is without me.”

“I don’t want to. As a matter of fact, I refuse.” I crossed my arms and turned away from him. But it was only when he didn’t respond that I turned back to face him. He was not there. “Lionel, you coward, you better not leave. Come back here and face me!”

Nothing. I didn’t see him, hear him, or feel his presence. Anxiety seized me. My thoughts shifted to the rest of my life without him, and how it would feel just like this. The painful burning in my lungs, throat, and eyes, that tears could barely extinguish.

“I can bring you back whenever I choose, ya know?” I asked into the openness. “We will always be connected in that way. Please don’t make me resort to this yet again.”

With his lack of response, I grabbed a rock, an obsidian stone, and watched as the sunlight twinkled across its sharp edges. I sat in the dirt and pulled my shorts higher on my left leg, exposing the deep vein of the thigh. Before I could bring the cold stone to my skin, the rock was smacked from my hand and flew out and into the sea. My attention shot in the direction of the stone, and when it returned, Lionel stood nose-to-nose with me.

“Since you can’t take a hint, we’re playing by my rules now” he snarled. “I will no longer be saving your life. You jump off another cliff, and you will splatter like the jumbo bag of blood that you are. You overdose and you will be sleeping for eternity. And if you slice open your wrists, as you die, you will take anguish in the fact that your mother will find your cold body, lifeless due to your dumb decisions. Do you understand me?”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I don’t think you want to take that risk,” he grinned at me menacingly, before he evaporated.

I sat there for a while, trying to blink him back into sight. But he was gone and, for once, I was too terrified to try and bring him back.

My suicide attempts ended after that. Actually, I was more cautious than ever. I had regained my fear of dying. And that fear was the beginning of my healing. It had been a year since my final suicide attempt. I had found love again in a man named Martin. We met in a local bookstore – I, with my nose stuffed deep into a book of European royalty and romance, was shocked to catch him staring straight at me with an amused grin plastered upon his face. Our courtship was quick and sweet. My family and friends loved him and were glad that my heart was open to receive him. Honestly, I had been yearning to love again and Martin made it feel so easy.

I sometimes wondered if Lionel was around, watching my new love life unfold. I tend to think of Lio as a lesson – he taught me what not to do with Marty. I was less volatile, less jealous, and less stubborn. I was reborn and I’m sure Lionel no longer recognized the woman that I had become if he was still watching. This new relationship was my greatest accolade.

Things weren’t perfect, of course. Every relationship has its ups and downs, what mattered most is that we overcame the most difficult moments and the love always remained. But gone were the days of toxic behavior that drove a wedge between Lionel and me.

There was nothing inherently different about that night. Martin and I had dinner at a restaurant downtown, we went on a star-lit walk through the park, and couldn’t keep our hands off each other in the backseat on the Uber ride home. The romance was well and alive and it was apparent in our relationship.

In the thralls of our lovemaking, he pinned both of my arms above my head with one of his hands. I purred to encourage him. His free hand grabbed the left side of my neck – followed by his right hand on the other side. I smiled slyly, teasing him, and he began to squeeze my throat. His grip continued to grow tighter and tighter. I thought that he would eventually release, but his stare merely intensified before his eyes glossed over.

“I can’t breathe,” I barely choked out, gripping his wrists while trying to pull his hands from my throat. “Stop it, Martin. I can’t breathe,” I hissed. I dug my fingers into the thin skin of his wrists in an attempt to puncture a vein. I coughed our safe word, in hopes that it would snap him from his trance. But as I looked deeper into his eyes, I realized that he was no longer there. The only thing that remained were the memories of all-night arguments, the continuous cycle of breaking up to make up, and the stresses of what I presented to him as love.

Those arguments replayed in my head too, alongside countless birthday parties, long mundane workdays, and passionate lovemaking with the man that I truly loved – Lionel. That was what flashed before my eyes – that was my life in a nutshell. I knew that this was the time that I was going to die.

But as I gasped out, trying to clench onto my last breaths, I felt an odd calmness. I searched the room, looking for him, I knew that Lionel had to be there at that very moment. My eyes flitted around the room, desperate to find him and plead with him to save my life. Surely he had to see that this wasn’t another selfish suicide attempt. I found him standing over Martin’s shoulder, gazing down at my struggle. I tried to ask for help but was met with what seemed like skepticism, disdain, then indifference. He stepped back from the execution but remained in the corner, watching the final moments of my life. He wasn’t going to save me, that was clear, but this act of voyeurism disgusted me and broke my heart. I refused to let my last living sight be fixed on a man who refused to stop my murder – I closed my eyes and accepted the inevitable.

Dying and waiting to die are two completely different situations. The waiting was long and excruciating, physically and emotionally. But death was quick. I was gone in a flash, consumed by a darkness that I assumed I would never shake. When I could finally reopen my eyes, I realized that I was on a different plane. I felt ethereal – much different from the physical form that someone must’ve found strangled in my bed. And I clearly understood that I was dead. No pearly gates and no angelic creatures were floating around with wings. In fact, wherever I was looked less like heaven and more like life on Earth.

I didn’t know what I was doing there – I didn’t assume that my final place of limbo would be hell, but I also didn’t think that I had a reservation in heaven either. So maybe that’s why this place seemed like a reasonable middle ground. I hoped to see celebrities who passed away years prior, but maybe they existed in some high-rise heaven condo or something. The afterlife wasn’t shaping up to be anything that I expected – it was an epic letdown. But I did recognize one person. I could never forget the way the hair on the nape of his hairline sloped into a point as it traveled down his neck. As I rushed over, I almost thought that he would disappear before I got to him. But when my hand landed and finally rested on his shoulder, I felt an exuberant thrill that rivaled the feeling of life again.

He met my gaze with what seemed like shock and dismay – which was peculiar to me, since he watched me die, “Debra? Wait, what are you doing…”

“My dear Lionel, so we meet again.”