The Worst Good-Byes

The sky was slowly starting to turn dark, the occasional street lamp turning on to brighten the bland, grey streets. The grass was turning bright green as the last April snow melted, and the trees attempted to bud once again. The two friends stood in front of the house, quiet. The one’s car stood, running. The other friend remained on the sidewalk. They stared at each other silence, knowing what was coming next.

He moved towards her quietly, going in for the dreaded but necessary final hug. She immediately started sobbing, and she felt him shudder too.

Earlier that day he had said, “Don’t be offended if I don’t cry. I’ll cry all the way home once it hits me.”

“It’s okay. I know how you are.”

As he cried in her arms now, however, she couldn’t hold herself together. Six years of friendship felt like it was coming to a screaming halt. He’d been planning on this move for three years, and neither of them had thought it would ever happen, but here they were.

Her insides were yelling at her to say something. She couldn’t leave things unsaid, but her heart hurt. Her mind was jumbled, and all the sound she could emit was a sob. “Thank you,” she managed.

He chuckled slightly, “Thank you.”

“I got to spend two more years with you than I thought I would, and I loved every minute of it. Except when you were an annoying piece of shit on occasion,” she laughed at how cliché she sounded, and they pulled apart momentarily, both wiping their eyes.

“I’m proud of what you did tonight,” she said, referring to earlier that evening where he officially come out as transgender, revealing his preferred name and pronouns.

He hugged her again. “I’m proud of you too. For everything you’ve overcome, and everything you’ve done the past couple years. I wish I could watch you graduate.”

She continued sobbing, trying to reign herself in as much as possible. Knowing he needed to leave, she pulled away again. “Let me know when you get home. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He backed away towards his car. They smiled at her briefly, and before she knew it, he was back in her arms, sobbing.

They stayed like that for a while. Her on the curb, him on the street. She stroked his short hair, and did her best to hold it together, feeling for the first time in their friendship that she was the one that needed to be strong and not cry. Usually he had been able to do that for her, but this one time she needed to be able to do that for him.

When he finally got into his car, she stood on the curb and watched. He wiped his eyes, his glasses, and put the car in drive. As she watched him drive off, she blew him a kiss. She walked back towards the house, making it into the garage before resorting to tears.

Her chest steadily rises and falls. Her breathing is always regular, never failing. Her beauty hasn’t faded in the time that has passed.

When she walked into the tall, intimidating Catholic church, she was not prepared for him. His body lay in the open white casket before her. Flowers surrounded her. People crying surrounded her. Her heart pounding; she could hear nothing else. Not her mom whispering in her ear, not the sobs of other mourners, not the church bells.

She looked at him for one last time before sitting herself down in a pew. Her heart was heavy.

The entire service she stared into space, searching in her mind for their last encounter, the last words spoken from one another. She cannot remember their last goodbye, and it hurt.

The entire town was there to mourn. She looked around at all these people. People she doesn’t know. Everyone knew him. To her he was another brother. To her he was something incredible, but now he was just gone, and she didn’t know how she had gotten here.

They poured out of the church by the dozens, and they left for the cemetery. The weather was cold, and she wore a skirt. She hugged her friends, tried not to cry again, but she knew it was inevitable. She listened to his mother cry; it breaks her heart. She wished she could do something, anything but there was nothing to be done.

When the priest had said his final words, she looked across to her brother. He stood with the other pallbearers, strong and tall. She could not imagine his pain, what he must be feeling in that moment. He walked over to her with big, purposeful strides and pulled her into a hug. She cherished it, trying to hold herself together. Yet, he comforted her, rather than the other way around.

That’s just the way it always is. The younger brother, comforting the older sister.

Her golden hair still remains healthy, growing. They brush it when they stop by. They place their hands on her pale, warm face. They say a few words, and they leave.

Her grandpa laid in the hospital bed. He tugged at the oxygen mask, and the nurse readjusted it. They were just waiting on the ambulance crew to show up. He was finally stable enough to travel the six hours for a triple bypass surgery.

Her dad had called her just 24 hours before, crying before he could even explain what had happened. “Your grandpa is alive.”

Alive is keyword for almost dead to her. She needs to hear, “he’s okay” not “he’s alive.” She had immediately panicked, but she was told to stay put for now. They had to run tests, find out what they could do. She took that as a good sign, so when her mom eventually called and said to come, she didn’t waste any time.

She stood beside him, wondering how she could say everything she wanted without completely falling apart. In her mind this was it. She’d drove all the way out here to see him with her brother before they took him off to the out-of-state surgeon, and between work and the first week of classes coming up, there was no way she could make it across state lines to visit him in the hospital there. This was it.

She placed her hand on his, and he looked at her like he’d never looked at her before. She wanted to say goodbye now, before the crew got there, before the rest of her family returned. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“I love you,” was all she could manage.

He started to cry, tugging at the oxygen mask once more.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he said, adding her name to the end of his sentence.

She felt as if she was going to choke.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, reassuringly, even though she didn’t believe it one bit.

In her mind, this was their final goodbye. She tried to memorize the sound of his voice, the sparkle in his blue eyes.

The staff have kept her comfortable. “No extraordinary measures.” Yet, here she is. They have done nothing to keep her alive, yet she stays nourished, beautiful, breathing.

The sun had just started to peer over the horizon, and the morning was still cold and wet. The couple walked out to their individual cars, not speaking. It had been there last night together. There had been tears intermixed with kisses, quiet “I love you’s” between softened sobs.

She stood before him, next to her car, unable to look him in the face.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” He asked.

She nodded, still avoiding eye contact, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship by trying to maintain a relationship.”

They had tried the “break” thing before, but there had never been space between them then. Now, there would be hours between them, and too many responsibilities to be able to see each other often.

Friend before lover. If they were going to remain in each other’s lives for a long time, they couldn’t be trying to maintain a long distance relationship. At least that’s what she had thought.

He kissed her softly, and she tried to memorize it. Every kiss felt like it could be the last, and she wasn’t prepared to give all of it up.

“If I’m going to leave, I have to do it now,” he said.

And she watched him go. He got in his car, he drove off, and he didn’t look back. She convinced herself he’d done that to stay strong for her. She got into her car, now able to let the tears flow freely. Her face burned, her heart was in her throat.

She tossed her stuff in the passenger seat, turned up the radio, and ignored her seatbelt reminder for the first time in her life. Without checking for oncoming traffic, she pulled out into street. Everything went black.

Five years. She has not opened her eyes, moved, spoken. Her life is a “miracle.” Some call it “an act of god.” To many others, it’s a nightmare.