Warnings in the Wind

January 24th. Today is Michael's 32nd birthday. Even with the dark, gloomy weather that usually comes this time of year, nothing can ruin the excitement I have for tonight's birthday dinner. We have plans to meet at this beautiful restaurant on Main Street, Martha’s Exchange. It started as just a candy shop in 1936 and has now grown into a full eatery and brewery, with little pieces of history throughout the place. Very fancy, which also means very expensive. So we agreed to keep it for a special occasion. I just can’t decide what I want to wear. We've been looking forward to tonight for so long I can’t just dress casually. My Uber is ten minutes away, and that’s only making me ten times more stressed. I quickly throw on a short black dress, take the rollers out of my hair, which reveal beautiful effortless blonde curls, and throw on my winter boots. I’m not naive to the fact that the boots throw off the entire outfit, but it’s the middle of winter in New England for Christ’s sake. I’m in such a rush to catch my Uber that I almost forget to say goodbye to Church, the newest addition to the family. A little black Persian kitty that Michael got me last week to keep me company while he’s away on those long business trips. We agreed on Church thanks to our mutual love of Stephen King. As silly as it may sound, she’s helped me more than I expected. Cats really do seem to have a sixth sense and know when you’re struggling. Just having her around has brought me so much comfort, and we’ve become best friends in such a short amount of time. I say my goodbyes, quickly throw on my winter jacket and scarf, and hop into my Uber.

My driver is Richardo, he has 5 stars and a handful of compliments on his profile. We exchange our hellos, and we start on the short fifteen minute drive to the restaurant. When I first started using Uber, it used to scare the hell out of me. Luckily after a conversation with Michael, he brought me back to reality and reminded me that these are safe individuals who get proper screening. He had a point. That’s something I've always loved about him. Instead of judging me for my nonsensical fears, he’s always offered a listening ear instead of a judgmental one. Normally I use this time to dig through my belongings and try to pull my life together before I arrive wherever I’m headed. As I'm applying another layer of mascara, I can’t help but notice Richardo keeps looking back at me in the rearview mirror. I try to avoid it as much as possible until I finally get annoyed and our eyes meet. He quickly looks away and follows it up with “I noticed your fence back there is broken. Guess you don’t have a man around to fix it?” He asks.

This takes me back a little, considering we’re already ten minutes into our ride and he hasn’t said a word until now.

“I do,” I say firmly. "He just hasn't gotten around to it yet.”

“So you don’t live alone?” he asks.

“No sir, I don’t.” At this point I'm instantly creeped out, and he can clearly tell from my reaction.

I nonchalantly search my purse and wrap my hand around the mace I have. I have no idea what to do, I've never been put in a situation like this before. I listen to true crime podcasts almost daily, but I’ve never believed anything like the stories I've heard would happen to me. I can’t shake this gut feeling that something bad is about to happen. I’ve always imagined myself as a person who would fight versus flight. At this moment I’m unable to do either. I sit there frozen. I’m able to shift my eyes to his phone he has on the dashboard. 3 more minutes. There are plenty of other cars around us. But the doors are all locked.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Richardo says, smiling back at me.

The car stops. I have never been this frightened in my life. My heart is pounding out of my chest, and my jaw is clenched so tightly it feels like my teeth might snap. All I have to do is take the mace out of my purse. One simple motion. But it’s impossible; my arm won’t budge. I’m paralyzed with fear. I have the courage to look up at the mirror where our eyes meet again. Mine are frightened, but surprisingly his are too.

“Did you see that!” He shouts, “Damn crazy cat ran out right in front of us!”

“Huh?” Is all I'm able to get out, completely disoriented by the situation.

“It was a black one too, I almost didn’t see the little fucker.”

My first thought was, did I lock my front door?

I’m immediately jerked back into reality by a “Here” from Richardo. I look up, Martha's. We’ve arrived at the restaurant. I let go of the death grip I have on the mace and gather my belongings. I leave the embarrassment I feel about misreading the situation with Richardo as I say my goodbyes and leave him with a 5 star rating.

Michael’s waiting for me by the door.

Seeing it in person, the restaurant is even more breathtaking than the pictures online. Sunlight poured through the grand windows overlooking historic Main Street. I get so caught up looking at the relics of the past that I barely notice the host trying to seat us, lost in how perfect the moment feels. “I’ve missed you” he says, and I can’t help but start blushing. Even after two years together, Michael still gives me butterflies. “I’ve missed you more.” I reply with a kiss.

He orders us a bottle of Alexander Brown, which catches me off guard given the price. But one thing I’ve learned over the course of our relationship is to never come between Michael and his alcohol. Despite knowing I’ll only have one glass and he’ll finish the rest, I choose to stay quiet. It’s his birthday, after all.

“Are you ready for your presents?” I ask.

“That depends, do they involve you?” he asks, giving me a wink.

I let out a flirty giggle and reach for my bag.

“It’s not much, but I know how much sentimental things mean to you.”

As he’s unwrapping my gift, I can’t help but notice myself getting anxious. Michael always loves my gifts, but sometimes I worry they’re a bit too corny. I can’t afford anything extravagant like a Rolex, but I like to think Michael loves me because he sees the good, loving woman I am inside.

And I was right. The man was crying. Never before have I seen Michael cry, and the last place I would’ve expected it to happen would be right here, broadcasted to the entire city.

“This is the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever gotten me.” He says while blowing his nose.

It was a photo frame with a hundred tiny bulletin points listing all the reasons I loved him. How hardworking he was, our nights cooking together, even his morning breath. I love everything about Michael, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced true happiness until I met him, and I want to express that every chance I get.

“I’m going to cherish this for the rest of my life, my love.” We kiss, and I can still feel the same fireworks I did on our very first date.

“Open your other one,” I say.

He carefully unwraps the present and reveals a third-generation Polaroid camera.

“I figured it’d be fun to take a few pictures since you’ve been on the road so much for work lately, something for you to have while you’re away.”

With tears still in his eyes, he says, “I love the way your brain works, it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

I’ve always admired Michael’s soft side, where most women would run at the sight of a man crying, I’ve always loved how he isn’t afraid to show his feelings.

“Let’s cherish this moment forever.” he says while holding up his new camera. And we take our first picture on it.

We spend the next few hours sharing another bottle of wine and making small talk, so wrapped up in each other that we don’t even notice we’re the last table left. At this point, I’m a little tipsy and more than ready to head home and remind Michael just how much I’ve missed him.

“Before I forget,” he says as he’s signing the bill, “I have to stop by my mother’s quickly and say hello.”

I try to hide the disappointment on my face as much as I can, but my emotions are almost always obvious. Even when I try to hide them.

“Please don’t be upset. I’ll get you home and I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

Instead of pouting and resorting to the silent treatment on the way home as I typically do, I realize it’s not worth ruining the incredible night we just had. Plus, he’s been gone for a week and it is his birthday, I’m sure his mom has a gift for him. When we reached the house, Michael stepped out and opened the car door for me, as he always did so effortlessly. He wrapped me in his arms and gave me a kiss so soft and deep, it made my heart skip.

“You’re not going to war.” I giggle.

“No, but I need you to know how deeply you matter to me. I’ve never felt love like this before.”

His words washed over me, leaving me speechless and filled with wonder at how I got so lucky to have him in my life. “I love you Michael” I say. Unaware that this would be the final moment I’d ever have with him.

Police say a 32-year-old man was discovered dead in his hotel room from an apparent gunshot wound to the head.

It’s been a week since Michael’s death, and I still can’t wrap my head around what happened. I’m afraid to move forward because doing so would mean accepting that it’s truly over. The memories we shared now belong only to me. There’s no one to laugh or reminisce with anymore. Just cold reminders that the only man I’ve ever loved is gone. I can’t bring myself to believe he didn’t go to his mother’s that night and instead he checked into a hotel intending to end his life. We had one of the best nights we’d shared in our two years together. He was in such a good mood, I would’ve seen a sign.

Instead, I was completely blindsided when Michael wasn’t in bed the next morning. And even more so when the heartbreaking news arrived just minutes later. At that moment, I knew something was terribly wrong. I knew he was gone before the police even told me. I could feel it, something I'll never be able to explain. The only thing I'd be able to pry myself out of bed for is to fill Church’s bowl. Church has been my anchor lately. Her silent company is comforting, especially when talking is the last thing I feel like doing. Part of me wonders if Michael got her for a reason beyond a business trip. Maybe he had been planning his own death for some time and wanted to leave me with something so I wouldn't be alone. I do my best to push these thoughts away the moment they creep in. Other times they consume me. That’s why I have Jenny, she helps pull me out of my own head. I’ve been avoiding her messages all week, but it’s gotten to the point where staying in the house is starting to make me feel physically sick.

We’re supposed to meet at a coffee shop down the street, so I walk, hoping fresh air will help. But with every step I feel more tempted to turn around. I love Jenny, we’ve been friends for years. But sometimes she can be a bit much. If I could use one word to describe her I’d say, misunderstood. She has the kindest heart, but sometimes people mistake her for one of those women who’s a little too free-spirited. Nonetheless, I keep moving, my eyes fixed on the ground. Between glances up, I notice a green pickup truck getting closer and closer. And it’s driving on the wrong side of the road. I’m sure they’ll notice me any moment, but the truck keeps coming, and it’s picking up speed. Barreling straight toward me, ready to crush anything in its path. The vibration of its tires shakes the concrete beneath my feet.

I sprint up a nearby hill, then feel a sudden warmth dripping down the side of my head. I scream, too startled to understand what’s happening. Dirt kicks up at me as a group of teenagers peel away laughing their asses off like I was just featured on America’s Funniest Home Videos. I bring my hand to my head and realize that I'm covered in cheap beer. Those fuckers threw a beer bottle at my head.

I sit there, feeling defeated. Both emotionally and physically, when I get a text from Jenny “You here?” I've come this far already, and I didn’t leave the house just to become a laughingstock for a couple of kids. A few minutes later I arrive and greet Jenny. “ We ordered two coffees and found a couch tucked away in the corner.

“So?” she asks, “How are you?”

“How do you expect me to answer that question? I’m a mess.” I say while gesturing to myself, pointing out the obvious.

“I know, I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” She says sympathetically. “The love you had for Michael was real, and a love like that never truly ends. It stays with you, even when one of you is gone." She scoots a little closer. “It breaks my heart seeing you like this.”

I try to force out an “It’s okay” but I can’t. One tear slips down my cheek.

“This is probably the last thing you want to hear, but finding beauty in even the little things helps tremendously.” She says while handing me a tissue.

“Like what?” I snap back.

She makes it sound like a skincare routine is going to help me magically forget that the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with is dead.

“Like looking for little signs that he’s still here with you.” She says “Anywhere from a mysterious bird suddenly appearing or one of his favorite songs randomly playing on the radio. We all need something to believe in.” She says “It keeps us sane.”

After another hour or so, we finish our coffee and she offers to give me a ride home. As we’re getting into the car, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time: relief. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’ve isolated myself and let everything pile on top of me. Talking to Jenny has helped me realize I don’t want to feel like this forever. I can grieve Michael and still allow myself to keep living. I see the hole I’ve dug, and I know that the longer I remain here, the more difficult it will be to find my way out.

The relief is short lived and quickly replaced with panic as we turn onto my street. Flashing lights illuminate my neighbors homes as two police officers are patiently waiting in front of my house. Jenny and I share wide eyed glances and I don’t even think she was fully parked before I jumped out. As I'm sprinting towards my house something familiar catches my eye. A green pickup truck. With the same fucking kids.

“Ma’am?” An officer asks, “Is this your house?”

I nod.

“Do you happen to own a black cat?”

Church.

I push by the officers and bolt into the house. I’m frantically searching all the rooms, certain that she’s here somewhere. But she’s not in the bedroom. Not the kitchen. Or the living room. Tears are streaming down my face, and my heart is breaking more with every second I can’t find her. Jenny screams, “You have no idea if that’s even your cat!” But that feeling came back. The same feeling I got Sunday morning when I rolled over to give Michael a kiss and he wasn’t there. There was a small trail of blood leaking down into a nearby sewer, and I almost didn’t even have to look to know it was Church. I let out a cry. “How did this happen?” I shout, falling to my knees. One of the officers clears his throat “It seems the door was left open” he tries to explain. “And you got a hole in your fence.”

I summoned up the courage to remove the cloth from the poor kitten’s face, but as I’m doing so, something distracts me. Underneath the rear tire of the green pickup truck, there’s something there. I’m not sure why I'm so intrigued, but I can’t help myself from taking a closer look. It looks like a receipt of some sort. But the closer I get, the more I realize it’s not a receipt at all. It’s a photograph. But not just any photograph, a Polaroid. The Polaroid Michael took of us at the restaurant before everything I knew fell apart. He was the only one who had it. I turn back to Jenny, who has her hands over her mouth in disbelief.

“Is this supposed to be some kind of sick joke?”