I so have to figure out who killed, no, who murdered Hannah and why, Francis thought, staring eye-level into a half-empty wineglass as though it were her best friend, a day after Thanksgiving. Why didn’t she have the fucking Smith & Wesson I bought her last Christmas? Francis drew a syringe on an envelope. An uptick in Seattle suburbia murders had cops prioritizing a local politician’s killing over Francis’s wealthy aunt.
I’d been with Sarah for five years, and she was getting anxious, anxious for me to pop the question or move on with her life. And rightly so. At thirty-five, I’d hoped to marry. We’d hoped to marry. But we both came from broken homes and had abandonment issues. The last thing Sarah wanted was for her mother to throw a potential divorce in her face and say I told you so.
It was the bone-chilling Northwest winter of 1994 when I stood with my shaky hands folded before Granddad’s grave. I stared at his name with a million things on my mind. His name was Shawn Black. Even during prayers with Mom, I didn’t close my eyes; I was always thinking, eyeing everyone else’s closed eyes, wondering what they were hiding from God.
Ben and Angie had been friends since they can remember. They told each other everything. Ben would marry Angie, but there’s one problem: Angie is gay. Ben goes through years of tumultuous relationships when Angie signed him up for a dating site, and who he meets isn’t the person he expected.
It was the bone-chilling Seattle winter of 1994 when “Breakdown” by Mariah Carey played on Mary’s radio. Outside was a winter wonderland with five inches of snow pushed to either side of the steep road. I’d lived just three blocks away, so I tromped through the snow in boots and a stocking cap covering my ears. I stomped my feet before entering Mary’s two-story upper-middle-class house. We needed to finish our high school science project, and I needed to study her lips.
As I closed the door behind me, the scent of her naked body and cologne, someone else’s cologne, didn’t escape my attention. I raked my fingers through my thick brown hair. It had to be Hannah cheating again. I held my finger to my lips. “Wait here, Becca,” I told my sister. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and kicked the door open.
It was the winter of 1995, and Christmas was three weeks away. I was out with a couple of friends at Mojo’s sports bar. We’d meet up every few months to catch up. Our meetups were like a Facebook post, reminding me of how messed up my life had become.
Becca’s eyes were cold and lifeless as she stared at me. We stood in a crowded hallway, but our eyes locked and all I heard was the screaming silence on her lips and everything I was sure she wanted to say. What I knew she had to tell me about how I’m such a horrible person for doing what I did. I still haven’t forgiven myself for it, and I doubt I ever will.
A whisper shifts the ground beneath her feet. Whatever he meant, he said it instead. A cool breeze pulled her ponytail southbound, and tears spread her cheeks. She folded her arms and shifted her weight to her back foot. Whatever she meant, she said it instead. A crisp slap across his cheek said it all.
The nothingness burns like whisky; flowing down my throat are memories and battle scars. A soft breeze touches my face under a thought, not a feeling, revealing insecurity, hanging by a thread of sanity. A doubtful smile crosses her face, and now, I’m just a shadow of the person I used to be.
Welcome to my world! We go through a lot in our lives but to accept them with an open heart and emotional strength is what keeps us alive. My posts are about all those little fears, happy moments, and anticipation we experience throughout our lives. I hope you find solace in them!