Legacy

Lights collide together, in flashes. Breaths come and go along with the sounds of the steady beeping. It comes in and out, the sounds, rushing, screaming frantically as if someone is dying. I wish I knew who they are freaking out about, who’s life they are trying so hard to save.

I don’t have time to think about who they might be trying so save before the next black out comes. Everything goes black; I don’t hear any sounds, not even the steady beeping. Just one long monotone beep, then it hits me.

I’m the person they are freaking out about.

There is a sharp sting on my chest, followed by a lot of heat. I hear what sounds like the flippers on a pinball machine, then there are questions of what happened, but I never hear the answer. Is someone giving them an answer or am I all alone?

I try to speak, but I can’t find the breath to get any words out, I know what happened, but I can’t tell the story.

There were empty words, broken promises, with a lot of begging at least on my part. All I got in return was his bright, captivatingly blue eyes, and silence. Eyebrows raise and a mouth contorts into a familiar look that lets me know whatever he’s thinking about, it isn’t good. Whatever he’s thinking, it doesn’t make him feel good, it doesn’t make him happy, but I can tell that his mind is already made up.

             

            I feel more heat, pressure and a sharp sting. Is this pain is internal as he rips my heart open again? Or is it real, as they zapping the broken, unstable heart back into a steady beat?

Both?

It’s as if he is ripping open a wound that was already healing on top of another scar. It’s just a pile of damaged tissue, never getting the chance to completely heal. It’s only healed twice since the first day we met. The day I finally whispered the words “I love you,” back to him. I knew I meant it, and that I had forgiven him for what he had done to me. The second time was the day I finally got to say it again in the car, when we were keeping our relationship a secret. 

Two scars, healed. Just to have them cut open six months later, and again two months after that. Leaving my body to react in unexpected ways, disposing of him into a toilet, as the scars get ripped open again.

He asks as if confused, if I am okay, but I know that he knows what is happening. He says the typical line, and I laugh, knowing that if we can remain friends that would mean that we either, never loved each other, or we were always in love, even to the point of friendship. The first option doesn’t make sense. So to be friends and know that we still love each other, makes the second round come even faster, in chunks as they splash into the water.

They keep asking what happened, and I can’t tell them, even if I wanted to. My memory is fading fast. All I know is that I’m in pain and I can’t tell where it is coming from. My breaths are getting heavy and slow, they questions still get asked, but I can’t hear the answer. I try to focus on his voice, but every time I get a glimpse of it, my heart aches more and it’s hard to breathe.

I feel a hand come over me, and I want to smack it, because I know who’s it is. I try to move my arm and either I’m too weak, or I have no control anymore. What is happening to me?

I ask for time, but he refuses. I can see his will to fight for this is slipping, becoming weaker and weaker. I now know the feeling. I told him that we could figure it out, that there is an answer. “This has to work out!” I want to scream, but I just say it calmly. He just shakes his head, “no it doesn’t, and there is no resolution to this.” I beg, and beg, but every fighting bone in him has escaped. All that is left is the cold shell of a boy, not a man, a boy, that created the first scar. Now he’s come back to dig deeper, pull slower, and rip the scar open harder than any time before.

With a couple of fighting words, and a question, the last thing I remember him saying is, “I’m done with you, goodbye.” I tried to call back, but no responses came, one after the other

When I wake up there is a bright light in front of me, I hear a familiar voice say, “Welcome back,” it’s one of my best friends, but I can’t tell which one. I just see blonde hair and a pretty smile. I try to get the words, “what happened?” to come out, but when I try to talk, it doesn’t work. I’m able to move my head to the right to see him, sitting with his elbows on his knees hands interlocked with each other. His head pops up and our four blue eyes meet, and for a second, it’s as if they never separated.  All I can see in them is the sound of his words, “no, not a break… a break up…” and in those words I hear pain.

Crying, screaming, bawling. I see red, worn-out eyes that never get rest. I hear the toilet flushing over and over again. I smell spearmint toothpaste, and hear the gagging sounds, as I can’t stand to have my toothbrush in my mouth, but I need to get rid of the taste of regurgitated stomach acid mixed with lunch that I swallowed an hour ago.

“What is he doing here?” I want to ask, but I still can’t, “what else did he do to me that made me like this?” I want to scream, tell him to get out, that I don’t want to see his face because it makes me want to gag, but I can’t. I know that as soon as I see him leave the room, I would want the uncomfortable comfort that he brings, back. Even though he’s caused these scars, even though I assume that he put me in here, there is something about him that puts me at ease.

The second time he hurt me, and I took him back. That first night I fell asleep on him, I fell asleep for hours at his house. On him. There is something so trusting about him that allowed me to fall asleep on him, in his house. For the first time in months, I was able to sleep.  So instead of trying to ban him from the room, I just lay there in silence, and let the tear stream down the side of my face and into my ear as I just stare at him, and he stares back.

“Her mom just texted… does anyone know her combination on her phone?” He looks up, and nods no. I whimper and he looks at me, and another tear streams down the side of my face.

“Yes?” I move my mouth as an answer, our couple telepathy still works. “It’s my birthday,”

“Okay, when is your birthday?”

“May fourth, nineteen-ninety-five “ I see his eyebrows raise and he looks at me for an explanation, but I can’t give him one. Another tear streams down the side of my face and into my ear, when it all goes dark again. I hear the steady beeping quickly transform into one monotone beep, there is panic in the room, and I’m guessing that monotone sound is my heart stopping and that’s why they are all panicking.

It just plays over and over again, the conversations the week before, the days heading up to that FaceTime call. Our talks about sex, and how we were planning on having our first time that weekend, possibly. I told him that he had some requirements to meet, but I didn’t want to wait any longer. It came down to the fact that I love him and I want to show him. He promised that he wouldn’t just walk away if we did, but that would have been a lie. He didn’t know that I was planning on giving it up, and I guess it’s best that it ended before I got betrayed and hurt even worse.

I wake up again and I hear many sighs of relief, “please stop doing that to us,” a familiar blonde says with a smile. I don’t remember who she is, but something about her is familiar and comforting, I think we have been friends, for a while.

What is happening to me!? My memory keeps slipping; the only thing I remember is the boy sitting in the corner of the room. I know his name, Tyler Berry. I know that I love him, but for some reason I am hurt when I look at him. But when he smiles at me, it’s comforting.

The doctor comes in and whispers to them. Shouldn’t I be told all of this since I’m over eighteen? Their reactions the information is not good. I can’t ask what they were told so I look right at the boy and wrinkle my eyebrows. He runs his fingers through my bangs, and rub my forehead. “Just don’t do that to us again… hang in there…”

He kisses my forehead, and I remember why I feel hurt when I see him. I gasp for air, but it seems out of reach, like the scab covering the scar is getting picked off before it’s ready. I remember that day, that FaceTime session; I remember what happened after it. I feel the muscles in my mouth, pull the corners down into a frown and the more I gasp for air, as the tears start to stream down my face and into my ears, the less I can breathe. I know what he did, I know why I am here. So I gasp for air, I want to hear his side of the story, but I don’t know if I would be able to take it.

My heart hurts, it feels heavy, he grabs my hand, and he knows what’s coming, another black out. “Bec, I’m so sorry!” He says to me, as tears start to come down his face. Why is he just now saying this to me? Why didn’t he say it before? “I do love you, very deeply. I just didn’t think…” One last tear streams down the side of my face and the monotone beeping comes back. He grabs my limp body and wraps his warm arms around them. The last thing I see is he regretting what he has done to me. I feel the blonde girl – Sophia, or Chloe? – grab my hand, and she whispers, “I’ll see you soon…” as a tear comes down her face, “I love you bec…”

Her body lay there, limp and slowly growing colder. Regret fills his body, and she knows it, so she doesn’t say anything. She knows the whole story. I know what he did to her, how he put her in here. I know that he never meant to physically hurt her, but she would have never been in town if he had not broken her heart. They wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe if she was the one driving, it would be him laying there, cold.

But now he has to live with it, with the mistake of hurting her, over and over and over again. Not fighting for the best thing he ever had in this life. If she had been in his position, she wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I’m glad that she is no longer suffering, and that he can’t hurt her anymore, but I’m going to miss my best friend.

            I look at him, as he is lying on her dead body, crying and offer a hug. He stands up and walks into my arms, we have really gotten to know each other over the past ten hours. As he cries I find I have something to say so I take a breath and when he is done crying, I grab him by the shoulders and look into his deep blue eyes. Now I see what she saw.

            “Becca loved you, she even told you that she would still love you, even if you killed her. That kind of love is unconditional, which was her goal anyway. To love someone unconditionally, not thinking about what you had done to her, but what she could do for you. As her best friend, I want to continue what she was doing. So if you need a friend… Chloe and I are here for you at any time…”

I don’t know what I did, but I finally did whatever Becca was never able to do. His voice is slightly off key, but he seems to be enjoying himself at our church. As the service goes on, I can’t help but think that it’s not me who got him to come to church, but instead it’s her.

Her memory. Her legacy.

How she showed God’s love through everything she did with him, even down to the final seconds of the break up, and how I honored her through showing that same love. I bow my head in service and I offer up a small prayer, “I don’t know if I can pray this, but can you let her know that she did it? That Tyler finally came to church, and that she was right. It’s changing his life…”

I smile and look at him. He still hates what happened, but I think he’s finally enjoying himself since the funeral.  I can see her in him, the joy that she gave him, is finally coming back. That love that she showed him.

As I look at him, I see her. I realize, I want to leave that kind of legacy. One that changes lives, in life and death.