Bring Me Back(21)

Loraine drives us back to the house and we don’t say a word. Not as she parks the car and not even once we’re inside. We both head into separate bedrooms.

I sob as soon as I see my bed. The bed Ben and I had been rolling around in only hours ago and now he’s dead.

I’ve never had to deal with death head-on before.

My dad’s parents were dead when I was born and my mom lost her dad shortly after. The only death I was around for was my grandma when I was five and I didn’t know her well so it didn’t hurt. Yeah, I was upset, especially because my mom was but my five-year-old brain couldn’t process grief. Not this soul-crushing, suffocating feeling.

I strip out of my clothes and stay in my underwear and bra. I don’t have time for pajamas. I climb beneath the covers, burrowing myself over to Ben’s side. I wrap my arms around his pillow and inhale his scent.

How long until that smell fades?

I cry. I let the tears soak my hair and the pillow. I cry until I’m too tired to cry and can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I let my dreams take me away. To a heaven where Ben still exists and life doesn’t suck so much.





My eyes feel like they’re taped shut. I try to open them and I can’t. I rub at them and sit up in bed. I look around me at the mess of covers and daylight shining through the windows. The clocks says it’s nearly noon. I narrow my eyes.

Last night …

Oh God.

“No, no, no, no, no.” I start up with the chanting again and rush out of my bed. I hurry down the hall and peek in the guest room. My heart sinks at the ruffled bed.

It’s not dream—not some dastardly nightmare. It’s real. It’s so f*cking real.

I clutch at my chest, like there’s a visible wound there and slide down the wall as sobs overtake my body again. In my sleep I’d been able to delude myself into believing it hadn’t really happened. Dreams are liars. They show you what you want to see, what you hope for, and it’s nothing but a lie.

I draw my knees up to my stomach and sob into my hands. How I have any tears left to cry is beyond me.

I feel so lost, so scared, so alone.

What am I going to do?

I wipe at my face and pick myself up off the floor. I have to find Loraine.

I make my way downstairs and find her standing by the front window, clutching a mug of tea. She glances over her shoulder at me with red-rimmed eyes. My lip trembles. I’m trying so hard to hold it together, but I can’t. I don’t want to.

She takes a seat and sets her cup of tea on the coffee table there. Her drink is practically untouched. I take a seat in the chair across from her. I know I should say something, but words evade me.

She crosses and uncrosses her legs. She’s restless and I am too. Neither of us knows what to do. I don’t know if there’s anything we can do.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” I say. I wrap my arms around my body like the gesture alone can hold together the crumbling pieces of my life.

Her lips press together in a thin line. “As cliché as it sounds, I guess you take it one day at a time.”

I nod. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like an imposter in my own body going through the motions. I don’t want to eat, or drink, or even talk.

“I’m going back to bed,” I finally say.

She nods and doesn’t fight me on it. In fact, she even says, “Me too.”

Neither one of us wants to deal.

For now, we don’t have to.





I stare at the closed casket as one of Ben’s high school friend’s, Tyler, drones on and on about what a great guy he was. I want to yell at the guy because he hasn’t even talked to Ben in recent years. But he’s here sharing in a grief I don’t feel like he has a right to claim.

The flowers overflow the casket in colors of purple and yellow. I think his mom chose those colors. I can’t remember. I’ve been too checked out the last few days—only mumbling responses when spoken to. I left all the funeral planning up to Loraine. I can barely stomach the word funeral. It’s so final.

My parents are here. I didn’t call them and tell them. I should have, but I didn’t. I’m not sure who told them. I guess it doesn’t matter. All I know is one morning my mom climbed into bed beside me and held me as I cried.

“It’ll be okay, baby girl,” she whispered like she used to when I was little. “Mom’s here.”

Only, unlike when I was a small child, her presence didn’t make this any easier. She couldn’t wave a magic wand and heal me. My grief would have to take its own course, and I was scared it might destroy me in the process. The sad part was I couldn’t bring myself to care if it did.

My mom sits beside me and she takes my hand, like she is silently aware of my thoughts. She gives my hand a squeeze, and I wish I could take some small comfort in the gesture, but I feel nothing.

Tyler finishes speaking and takes a seat.

Ben’s mom gets up and stands near the casket. Ben’s brother, Jacob, stands beside her, offering support.

She holds a tissue to the corner of her eye, dabbing away the moisture. Everyone sits quiet and rapt, waiting for her to speak.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Getting through this is killing me.

She clears her throat and taps the microphone. A pitched noise whizzes around everyone and I wince.