The Night Ferry

“Hoo hoo.”

I’m startled awake by the barn owl that has inexplicably taken up residence outside of my window.

For a moment, I’m confused. I look around my dark room, the moon illuminating bits and pieces of it as it forces its way through the cracks in my curtains.

I glance at the clock. 2:42am.

It all comes rushing back.

I gasp as reality floods my brain, and a whimper escapes my lips.

All I wanted was to sleep. To have peace. To forget. Just for a few hours.

It’s been weeks since I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. I had finally fallen asleep into a beautiful, dreamless bliss when that owl woke me again.

I realize I’m sitting up, my body coiled like it’s about to strike something, anything. I take a deep breath, uncurl my fists, and settle back onto my pillow. I sigh deeply, staring up at the popcorn ceiling as a small breeze from my open window causes a few lonely spiderwebs to sway.

I’m afraid to close my eyes, but they’re too heavy.

I’m in a red Acura Integra. It’s one of those cars with the headlights that pop up and look like eyes staring you down. The paint is fading in certain spots, giving it pink discolorations, and the inside of it smells like someone eats in it regularly.

It’s a crisp fall day and the windows are down, ruffling your hair in my passenger’s seat. It jerks a little as I shift gears, and you laugh at me. I know I’ll get better at driving it someday, but honestly, I’m not a bad driver, your presence just throws me off. We’ve only been dating for a couple of weeks now, but you’ve been my best friend for over a year and sometimes I feel like I need you to breathe.

Your laugh gives me life and an escape from my responsibilities and the expectation that I will always do everything right. You think I’m pretty and funny and interesting. You think I’m worthwhile and special. Those are things I have never really thought about myself.

You smile at me and cup the back of my head with your hand, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. I smile back at you and try my best not to rev the car too much as we make our way to the movie theater.

It all fades to black.

I’m pacing my room, my breath coming out in short gasps. The dark brown walls have never felt so small, so suffocating. I flip my phone open for the millionth time. No calls, no texts.

You promised you’d call when you got home.

You left late because we spent too much time talking and cuddling after the movie. Your curfew is midnight, but you left at ten ‘til. You’d never make it on time, but it’s already 12:30 and I haven’t heard from you. Are your parents that angry?

I realize my nails are in my mouth and quickly pull them away.

Would they really take your phone away without letting you text me?

My phone clicks open, and I try to call you again. Straight to voicemail.

My breath is ragged. I wait another ten minutes and call again. 12:40. Straight to voicemail.

Just as I close my phone, it rings shrilly. I jump, a thrill of hope running through my body.

But it’s not you.

Your mom’s name lights up my caller ID.

“Laura?” She asks, and my heart sinks at how ragged her own breath sounds.

“Yes?” I say, too scared to ask anything else.

“Did he leave your house? Have you heard from him?”

My heart crashes into my throat. She hasn’t seen him. He isn’t home yet.

I swallow hard.

“He left around 11:50,” I manage to choke out around the tears that have sprung into my eyes.

“He isn’t here yet.” She says quietly. Too quietly.

“Hoo hoo.”

I startle awake, the dream fading as the sight of my moonlit room once again fills my eyes. The feelings from the memory remain, my throat tight and my eyes laced with tears.

If only, if only… echoes through my grief-stricken mind. If only I hadn’t let him stay so late. If only I had been working that night and we hadn’t gone out. If only we had never met.

My breathing is shallow around the lump in my throat. I feel like I’m suffocating. I sit up, straightening out my back and practicing the breathing exercises I’ve been taught. Five seconds in, five seconds out, and whatever you do, don’t keep reliving the painful memories.

Five seconds in, five seconds out…

Five seconds in, five seconds out…

I’m in a hospital room. They don’t know how he even made it here alive. He was going ninety-nine miles an hour, trying to make it home by curfew.

What an idiot, I think bitterly, as my heart continues its methodical shatter.

His hair is plastered to his head, his breathing faint through an intimidating tube they’ve stuck down his throat. His body is bruised, his once warm hands cold and limp. I manage to stifle a cry, but a tear betrays me as it makes its down my face.

His parents turn to me as I enter the room, and they’re the only thing keeping me from rushing to his side, from lying on his bed with him, and from pleading with him to live.

His mother’s glare is cold and hot. If he doesn’t make it, I have no doubt she’ll kill me without a second thought. And if he doesn’t make it, I hope she will.

His dad releases her hand for a moment and comes to wrap me up in a warm hug. I try not to crumble to nothing in his embrace, so kind and warm like his own son’s. He holds onto me for a long time, then releases me with a nod and a small smile.

I look back at you and I can’t look away. My breath comes in short bursts and my heart seizes up.

“Hoo hoo.”

This time, it takes a moment for the dream to fade. In a short while, the hospital bed changes into mine, your parents disappear from where they stand, and finally, I’m in an empty room dancing with rogue moonbeams.

It’s been six months. It’s been six months since I stood there helplessly as your heart flat-lined, and all the nurses and doctors rushed in. It’s been six months since your beautiful life faded to black. It’s been six months since everything good in my life ended.

I’m okay in the daytime. In the daytime, the tears stream silently down my face. In the daytime, every single thought of you no longer makes my throat constrict. In the daytime, I’m able to go to school and work without crumpling into nothing. In the daytime, I’m able to convince myself that it isn’t my fault that your beautiful life ended.

But at night, the moonbeams taunt me. At night, the barn owl’s hoots ferry me from nightmare to nightmare. At night, I forget how to breathe.

You see, as it turns out, I really did need you to breathe.