Children Laughing, Summer Days, Macaroni and Cheese

I asked you to stay. You told me to write a list of things that make me happy. I picked up the marker and held it in my shaking fist. Large, wet drops covered the paper.

Mom, My dog, The smell of flowers.

I pleaded with you to stay. You told me that you had to catch a bus, that you had to go home. You said that I should know that you shouldn’t be spending the night in my dorm anymore because my mom wouldn’t approve, and everyone knows that Christians don’t do that. You told me to keep writing.

Books, Candles, Pretty sunrises, Jesus.

I begged you to stay. To not leave me. But you looked me in the eye, told me that your bus is here, and turned around. “Make a list of what makes you happy.” Your voice was flat. Emotionless. Numb. The heavy door latched behind you. Tears began to crowd the words on the notebook page.

The beach, Dad, Sunday mornings, Birds.

I fell to the floor, crying so hard that I thought I might drown from my own tears or suffocate from the deep sobs that robbed my lungs of air.

Make a list of what makes you happy.

Children laughing, Summer days, Macaroni and cheese.