Welp, Watching "But I'm A Cheerleader" And Crying Over The Romance Between Megan And Graham Into My Prosecco

Welp, watching "But I'm a Cheerleader" and crying over the romance between Megan and Graham into my prosecco again... This is the 27th time I've watched this movie, by the way

Sometimes I wish I never had to pick up the phone. My whole body itches with the need to check and see how everyone I love is doing, and I always give in to that craving. It's my own fault that they all live so far away from me anyways. So I check my phone, and on the tip of my tongue I'm always wanting to ask, "When are you going to ask me to stop?" But it's a bad habit I'm trying to curb, so I don't let it leave my mouth or bleed off my fingertips.

There's so many beautiful things about them that I love. Their sense of adventure and drive to keep going. Despite the odds that the universe seems to throw at them they just keep pushing forward in a way that leaves me inspired. They are so uniquely them that I can see parts of them flitting around in my daily life- through colors, and products lining store shelves. Through the changing of the seasons outside and the weather. I breathe in their company and am reminded of every late night conversation we had, while everyone else was asleep.

It's not enough to fill the empty space they leave whenever they're far away, but enough that I'm always reminded, so that I'm always reaching for the phone (the one thing that keeps us tethered) like a lifeline. I can't help feeling this way, because they made me who I am.

Does anyone else deal with this level of obsession? Does anyone else feel the need to keep everyone you ever dared to love in a box so you know they'll never leave? That you need to hold them captive with your words because for some strange reason that's beyond you, you don't believe that they could ever love you back? Even if they made me everything I am?

The Meow

I did what I could, I tried my best. I got so many different opinions from different veterinary clinics. I never thought things would come to an end so soon. He didn't know what was coming- maybe that made it better…? Or worse, I'm uncertain on how I feel about that detail honestly. He laid on my chest, purring most of that day. I had gotten him new catnip stuffed toys, but he wasn't well enough to really play with them. Instead he nuzzled the toys cuddled up near him occasionally, butting his head against the limp doll that was made to look like a squirrel. He was still so affectionate, so gentle…. But the cancer was growing. As much as I hoped against hope for time to go backwards, I kept reminding myself that he didn't know something was wrong about today. He didn't know. That evening, I bought a rotisserie.  I pulled away the skin to get to the meat underneath and carefully shredded it. I set it on a plate along with his favorite catnip treat and a dollop of the strawberry shortcake sauce that he was always trying to get into. 

When he ate, he made little noises of enthusiasm. He licks at the plate and smacks his lips before looking at me with love and adoration in his eyes. His eyes are so expressive, and I can tell he trusts me. I swallow the lump that threatens to form in my throat, and lie to myself that I'll call it all off and he'll be fine. I hear the knock at the door. At first he's terrified. When he is given the shot that'll put him under he hisses, and I carry him away quickly to my bed so he can feel like he escaped. I just want him to be happy in his final moments. As I lay him on my chest, laying down on the bed, I can see the confusion in his eyes before his head slumps against my shoulder. My parents come into the room, and I instantly feel defensive. My father scowls as he watches me in disapproval, but for once he has no words. My mother is tipsy and weeping. She gestures for the man who is going to end Hemi's life, to come into the room. 

Still, I won't cry. Not where he could subconsciously hear it, this is supposed to be a peaceful sleep. Not where my parents can see, and judge me for being an embarrassment to the family once again. Gently, I set his body onto the pile of blankets and stuffed animals. He breathes in slow deep breaths, tongue sticking out as if to lick the air. I swallow convulsively again as the second shot is administered, but it doesn't get rid of the rock hard lump that's blocking the scream I feel bubbling under the surface. I keep watching, as the stethoscope is moved from his chest and the blood pressure device is taken from his arm. The man nods at me, and puts his body into a bag which he then flattens the air from. My mom lets out a slurred sob, telling me that she's sorry. I am still locked into place, watching the bag disappear out of view. 

Why does everyone I love leave? Is there not enough time in the world for such feelings? I swipe the screen onto my phone, and type into the discord server of my closest friends, "He's gone."

I think about it for a long time, what happened. I think about the confusion in his eyes before he slipped into a sleep that he would not wake from. I think about how he managed to curl into the gaps of my life that felt empty, and filled it with so much life and joy. I think about these things, well after the sun sets, and Niceville's moon is staring back down at me through the window. I feel so many other eyes staring at me from the darkness out there, but I don't bother to wave. I can only contemplate, and wonder if he is still in this room with me, even though I watched his body be taken out in a sterile white bag. And then I hear it, a meow. I strain to hear it, and find that the meow sounds off, it sounds unmistakably fake… but how does it sound fake? I sit up in bed, and look around the room, shifting uncomfortably, before glancing out my bedroom window. There, out in the backyard is the silhouette of a lady, meowing in my backyard. And somehow, I just know that when I strain to look in the darkness, I'm going to see someone who looks exactly like me.

So I don't bother. I lay back in bed, and I pretend that I'm already sleeping, just like everyone else in this town does when something shakes their reality. Because that's what we do around here, in Niceville.

!! Important Tip !! Just because you’re alive, doesn’t mean you exist.  You can be as vacant of life, as this house is of people.