On Grief and the Steps, We Skip Part 1
He always smelled like fruit loops and you thought that was poetic. Thought there was something worth smiling about, his fruit loops. Today you do your best to smile as you pull his pillow into your face and breathe in all that lingers of him. You joke of joining him as you press firmly. You choose, instead, to scream into the pillow, hoping it scares him back to this room. After removing the pillow, you turn to his side of the bed and just lay there, anticipating his alarm clock. As it sounds you lay, still on your side, waiting for him to press snooze, your body a slave to its own muscle memory. Your throat itching to tell him to turn it off. You, waiting your turn to volunteer as tribute, just to have HIM here to turn the alarm off.
With no hesitation life has cancelled this season of the He and You show and sent you into a spin-off, where you’re once again the lead role, but your co-star is now the dog. The one he begged you to let him buy, even though you both could barely take care of yourselves. The same dog who never goes in your room anymore, probably because she too misses the smell of fruit loops. You and the dog don’t make as entertaining of a show as he and you did, but you both try playing your parts, anyway. Now and then you both remember how to summon your voice and escape your Tom and Jerry soundtrack. You both find little to discuss now that he is gone, so the silence outweighs everything. You have forgotten the dog’s name. No doubt a side effect of a broken heart, or a life uprooted, either way your co-star is now nameless. The space between you foggy, because she seems like more of a stranger now that he’s not here to vouch for her.
The alarm suicides its own sound and you return to laying on your back and staring at the ceiling until the sun finds its way through the windows, to your face. The warmth reminds you of the first time you met him. He was the only kid in class who didn’t play at recess, and you were the only one who didn’t think that weird. You sat beside him and instead of exchanging pleasantries; you asked him if he thought the moon was really made of cheese. He turned to you and smiled, and you didn’t know you loved him then. Today you wish you had known. There wouldn’t be so much time wasted apart, if you had only known you loved him that day.
The bed vibrates, and you find a message from your mother, telling you his parents are about to pull the plug. You feel as though his funeral has already begun, and you’re not sure what to wear when you say goodbye. You do a mental scan of your closet and can’t seem to recall owning anything in a shade of black dark enough to eclipse the ache your heart is casting. So, you ignore the message and convince yourself that this isn’t what it looks like, that he is going to come in any minute now and ask you to fix pancakes, banana flavored pancakes, without bananas. Try to convince yourself that miracles aren’t fairytales, if only for today.
A thought flashes through your mind, and you remember the dog’s name is Fruit Loops. A chuckle bursts from the lowest part of your navel, because how could you forget a detail like that. You sit up in the bed, and look her in the eyes for a moment.
“Fruit Loops, come here, girl.”
The dog sits at the doorway, alert but cautious, deliberating on her next move.
“Come on Fruit Loops, it’s okay.”
Fruit Loops runs and plops on the bed and lies in the safe zone children lay in when a thunderstorm forces them out of their beds. She looks at you and then buries her head in his pillow. You run your hand through her fur, only slightly concerned about the mess of hair you’ll be cleaning soon. You feel thankful he left you the dog.
He always spoke of the days you’d grow old together and just sit in the bed. He aged much faster than you, and now expects you to pick up the slack.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, all you smell is fruit loops. You smile, close your eyes tighter, and pray for more time.
In undergrad I had a creative writing assignment to write a short story from the third person perspective. Having zero experience from that perspective, I thought it would be my downfall. This story was the result. It came in a time where I had lost many around me and grief felt like it would never be a stranger. I thought this story would only be an assignment, but 5 years later I shared it because I think it's still beautiful in the most hurtful, raw way. I do plan to expand this, because though it feels like a complete story it also feels tangential to another. There’s an entire world for the main character just beneath this pain.
