Present Perfect(61)

I looked at him for a few more seconds before handing him his gift. He tore through the wrapping like a little kid. “I hope you like it,” I said anxiously.

My gift to Noah was a ballpark pendant and chain. The pendant was shaped like army dog tags and it was made from part of the original seats from Fenway Park.

His face lit up when he realized what it was. “Fenway, isn’t it?” he asked with awe evident in his voice.

The biggest smile appeared across my face as I nodded. “It has it written on the back.” I was beaming.

He flipped it over to read the words. He was completely speechless. He pulled the chain and pendant over his head then wrapped his arms around me as I laid my head against his chest.

“I love it. Thank you, Tweet. I can’t believe you remembered Fenway was my favorite.” He squeezed me tighter. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

We sat there for a long time quietly holding each other and for the first time in a long time, things felt perfect.





I read somewhere that there’s no worse pain than experiencing the death of a loved one. I think there is one pain that overrides that of losing a loved one, though. That’s the pain of not being given the opportunity to say goodbye.

You don’t get to tell the person how much they’ve influenced you. You don’t get to tell them how much you appreciate what they have done for you. You don’t get to tell them how much you love them and will miss them. When you don’t get the chance to say goodbye, you don’t get the chance to say thank you. Everyone deserves a thank you and goodbye.





I lightly knocked on his door and said, “Noah, it’s me.”

I heard his raspy deep voice answer, “Come in.”

I entered and closed the door behind me. Noah was lying on his back in bed with the heel of his palms covering his eyes. He brought his hands down, sat up, and looked at me. I almost crumbled to the floor. Sorrow and devastation poured off of him.

We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then Noah said, “He had a heart attack at work. He was gone before the paramedics had a chance to get there.” He tried to compose himself enough to continue. “I just saw him this morning and he looked fine. We were going to Fenway next month, Tweet.” He choked on every word, unable to contain his sobs any longer.

My eyes were full of tears. My heart had never ached so completely for anyone. I wanted desperately to take all his pain away. Not saying a word, I crossed the room to him. I kicked off my shoes, crawled up on his bed, and sat behind him. Noah rested back against my chest. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I buried my head in the crook of his neck, and held him tight while he sobbed and cried out in pain.

I whispered into his neck, “You’re dad was a great man and he was so proud of you.”

Our sobs began to subside. We remained in the same position, sitting quietly. After a while there was a soft knock on the door.

A female voice said, “Noah, its Brooke. Can I come in?”

Before he could answer, the door creaked open and Brooke walked in. Seeing us sitting on the bed in that position caused a look of anger to flash across her face. Noah remained in my arms with his eyes closed. Brooke kept her glare on me while her voiced remained steady.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Rubbing his face, Noah replied, “Brooke, I really don’t want to be around anyone right now. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Brooke narrowed her eyes at me, her glare becoming more intense. I could see her body stiffen and become rigid. Her lips pursed together as her expression tightened. She was angry and hurt. I knew Brooke was his girlfriend and should be the one consoling him. I started to pull away from Noah so she could take my place, but he clamped on to my arm like a vise and wouldn’t let me go.

I turned my head to her. My eyes asking her to understand how much pain he was in. He probably didn’t realize how what he said sounded. Without saying another word, she turned and left.

“Maybe I should go and let her stay,” I said.

Noah turned over on to his stomach, wrapped his arms tightly around my waist and rested his cheek on my chest.

He mumbled, “Don’t leave me. I need you, just you. I don’t want to be round anyone else, but you, Tweet.” His body began to tremble. I could feel my shirt getting wet from his tears.

I squeezed him tighter and whispered, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” We never left Noah’s bed that night. We fell asleep holding each other.





The next morning, Noah and his mom were scheduled to go to the funeral home to finalize his dad’s arrangements. He asked me to go and I did. I never left his side. Noah kept physical contact with me constantly during the day. He was either holding my hand, sitting close, or wrapping his arms around my shoulders or waist. It was as if touching me calmed him and gave him some peace.

I didn’t see Brooke the entire day. I wasn’t sure if that was her decision or Noah’s. It seemed odd to me that she wouldn’t be here for him. I knew last night was awkward and she was hurt, but his father just died and he was devastated. I didn’t like Brooke, but I didn’t think she’d be so petty and stay mad at Noah.

The Stewart’s home was a buzz of activity. People were stopping by constantly, bringing food and giving Noah and his mom condolences. My entire family was trying to help wherever we were needed. The Stewarts were our family. My dad and Mr. Stewart were like brothers. His death hit my dad extremely hard. The two men were the same age and Mr. Stewart appeared to be in as good a shape as my dad. They ran together a few times a week and even played basketball often. The fact that Mr. Stewart could apparently be in good shape and this still happened, scared my dad.