What We're Waiting For

Happy three years, my love. This is for you.

There he stood, at the edge of the stairs. Without a word he walked up beside me. He slowed his pace to match my own as I was trying to buy us more time. In this moment, every second counts. I couldn't help it. I couldn't look away from his face; angular, dark. This wasn't my Kaleb. His body was steeled and his features emotionless, and I knew why. I just didn't like to think about it, about why we were walking through this endless gray haze, about how we each felt as though we were walking slowly to our own death. In reality, that's really what we are doing. 

I counted every footstep, became aware of every detail on his face. With my eyes I traced his clenched jaw to his lips that I had become so familiar with. My gaze drifted up the gentle curve of his nose to catch a glimpse of one of his deep brown eyes. It made me flinch. He looked so dead; just a ghost of his former self. I went back to looking at his mouth. Anything to avoid those eyes. I had to be strong for him, and I knew I couldn't maintain my composure if I met his icy stare. He was trying to be strong for me. The strongest man I've ever known.

Our footsteps slowed to a halt, and neither of us moved at first. My eyes were glued to the ground now but I could feel him turn my body gently to face him. A cold breeze ran its fingers over my exposed skin and made me shiver. Instinctively he brought me closer to his chest in a protective manner. His army uniform was rough on my cheek and I hated the feel, but he was warm. Under my ear I could hear his heart beat at a slow, even pace along with my own, but I swear he wasn't breathing.

I didn't want to move from that one spot for as long as I was alive. But time wasn't stopping for me, for us, or for anyone. It took every ounce of strength I had to look up at him, and in the second our eyes met, in our private little universe between us, I could see his composure falter if only slightly, proving that he wasn't entirely a statue of a soldier. Instead, he was the same fourteen-year-old boy I first fell in love with just a few short years ago.

Just because I know him so well that we're practically the same person, I could tell exactly what he was thinking about. Because it's what I've been thinking about for months. All the memories we shared danced in my mind. I was afraid to blink in case he was using my eyes as a gateway into my thoughts to watch them with me. The first time we met in person, ,every late night phone call, our first "I love you". Then comes our first kiss, the meteor shower we watched on the trampoline, all the rough patches we each helped to mend with kisses. I could feel the chilled autumn air and the warm sunshine, laying in the grass, all the coffees, every intimate moment, that night under a full moon in the park. Every one of those memories had the same purpose of leading us to where we now stand. What we've been waiting for.

Without breaking away from each other's gaze, he brought his hand up to softly brush my cheek of a single tear that held so much meaning and all the words I couldn't say out loud. The plane next to us started loudly. Raindrops began to fall as if the sky was crying for us, too. In these last few breaths I had with him, I knew what needed to be done; not as a good bye, but as a promise. 

Just as if it were the first year we were together, with all the built up passion since then, we shared the sweetest, purest, and also the saddest kiss ever imagined. Both of his palms have come to grip the side of my face, kissing me harder. I felt my own hands reach up to pull him closer, though we both knew it would never be close enough. He was leaving. All this time I've had to ready myself and I've never been so unprepared. I faced this truth now as it echoed in my mind a hundred times over. For once, there was no holding back. I could see if not in his body or his face, but in his eyes all his thoughts and fears laid out before me. He looked so exposed. It's worse than any other broken moment we've shared, because he couldn't hide this time. There was no point.

With his eyes shut tight, he separated our lips and pressed his forehead into mine. In a shaky but determined voice as if the world would end if he didn't get the words out, he spoke.

"I promise you, I will be back. If there is a god, then this will not be the last time I get to kiss you. Even if there isn't a god, I'll be back. Because that's what we're waiting for. You are my life, and I love you. Forever." 

I placed my left hand on his, still on my face, and interlocked my fingers with his. It's the most perfect, natural fit; as if the only purpose the spaces between his fingers served were to have mine there. In one slow motion, I brought his hand to my lips. I'm out of time. This is it.

We stood back and stared at one another for a long second, and I watched as he transformed back into the statue, turning slowly and stiffly to eventually climb the stairs into the plane. The entire time I couldn't move. I just stood there; numb, empty, counting his steps and trying to slow down time. Anything I could do so I could memorize every last detail of him. Anything I could do to make my last view of him last.

They shut the door behind him, truly finalizing this moment, like a curtain at the end of a show that left you hanging and in tears. A tear drop fell. Then there was more of them, pattering against the cement all around the plane, and around me. Or is it just the rain? At least if he was watching me through one of the windows, I know he can't see me crying. I couldn't hear a thing over the mixture of wind, rain, and the plane engine roaring, though it seemed someone was telling me to get inside. Or to at least move. But that seemed distant and unreal. Everything in that moment did.

That was the beginning of the overwhelming hollow feeling that progressively became worse with each passing second since. It's like I'm still alive but my individuality, motivation, and any will to live has vanished. My life's purpose was a couple hundred yards away from me, a running distance, and I was glued to the ground. I was always scared to have any hope because despite how much I dance around the subject, pretending to be oblivious, there was that possibility; that one huge chance that he may never come back.

It could've been hours that I stood there, watching the plane disappear into the ominous skies, but that's usually the part where I wake up. For most people, they can wake up and their nightmares are gone. Everything goes back to normal. It isn't real. But what if it was? What if your nightmare isn't a nightmare at all, but a memory? If there's no escape from your worst fears, because your fear is of your reality? 

I hate being asleep as much as I hate being awake, because there is no difference, no refuge from my fears. Either way, he still isn't here. Awake or asleep, there is no telling if he will ever one day stand before me again to tell me he loves me or kiss me so hard my head spins. There's no telling if he'll even be the same person. I'm afraid to have any hope in fears of getting it crushed, and I can't afford to be broken down any more than I already am.

Two years. That's about how long it's been, and I haven't had one single decent night's sleep since. I've been a mere shell of my former self. Around people, my face becomes a mask. A mask that hides my face, a face that's hiding the pain, a pain that's eating my heart. A girl nobody really knows. I've learned to filter my thoughts and store those relating to him in any way into a locked box in the abandoned, musty attic corner of my brain. As soon as I came home that day, I rid my environment of anything that could possibly remind me of him that I could, though throughout time, I realized I'd have to erase the whole world to do that. I can't smile without imagining him smiling back at me. So I just... don't.

For the last two years, now coming up on three, this has been me. Now, though, as it's my last day before I leave Iowa for good, I have more painful goodbyes to make, my walls should come down. I'll never have any other chance to say what I need to before I make my run for it. And when I do, I never want to look back. I don't think I'm quite ready to face my future yet, but I don't want to forget my past completely either. After all, every little detail of my life since I was in the seventh grade revolves around him, both the good and the bad; every decision I ever made, every person I ever met, it all seemed to be because I had him in my life. No, I'm not ready to face my future. Not without him. I don't know what it has in store for me, and that is truly terrifying. Every memory, though, I at least know they happened, and they can't change. That at least provides some comfort.

I rolled over in my bed, almost expecting to see my room as it has always been these last seven years that it was my room at all. Instead, the posters that had covered every inch of my drab white walls had been torn down. Boxes full of clothes and trinkets stuffed the spare corners and exposed the off white carpet that needed to be vacuumed. All the furniture now looked so empty and faded without the artsy decorations I littered them with. It was all just a sore reminder that this was the last time I would ever see Iowa again. 

I still remember how devestated I was when I found out I had to move here. I didn't have a lot down in Florida; two best friends, an average school with not much to do around the neighborhood except drown in the humidity, but it was my home. Now, that seems like another life. It feels as though there was never a life outside of our two story rental house on the outskirts of a little "city" in Iowa. Never once did I expect to make the friends I did, do the things I have, experiment with the styles I dared to try, or meet the one who would mean so much to me now that I've graduated and have all my things packed away to move back to Florida for college. But neither here nor there is my home anymore. Nowhere is truly home without him there, too. 

The time on my phone read 6:17, but the date was the one I dreaded reading. Today of all days would be the day I leave. Today, six years ago is when my life was changed for good by the one who is no longer even in the same hemisphere as me. June 17th, 2009, a day I remember so clearly. I swear the sun shined a little brighter than usual that day. It was a day I woke up smiling without any idea of what awaits me in the not-so-far future. Now it will be the anniversary of the day I cut the last strings holding me down, and though I feel like I'm sinking, I'll float away into the wide open unknown. 

The room is dimmly lit by the beginnings of sunrise. For once, the house is silent, as if it too is mourning such a loss. I sit up slowly as if to make sure I don't disturb the silence. The only thing I can hear is my heart beat, still there, but slow and weak, as if each movement takes all its effort. I remember reading somewhere that depression can kill you slowly if you don't do it first; it shuts you down like a real, physical disease would, and it does have physical symptoms. I've heard you can really feel your heart "breaking" in your chest, but I already knew that from my own experience. It's a constant dull ache and pressure that never really goes away. It feels like lead, and gravity pulls it down into your gut. It weighs down your organs and you feel like you'll never feel hunger ever again, just nausea. It's all real. It's my life.

Carefully and slowly, I try to stand. The carpet is rough against my feet, a familiar feeling. Everything feels off, lopsided, and I can't even keep my balance in this bizarre place that used to be home to me. Looking around makes the ache intensify, but I must push on. I have nothing else left to do. All my clothes are pretty much packed, but in one drawer I find an Army T-Shirt, crumpled and alone at the back. Such an ironic and cruel reminder, like it wanted me to find it. I left out a normal pair of blue jeans and slip those on with the gray shirt. After running my brush through my long hair a few times, I feel almost normal enough to start the day; by normal I mean, the way I've been since the real me died. 

Before opening my bedroom door, I hesitate, like I'm afraid of what will be on the other side. But when I open it, things look normal. I never knew silence could be so loud. Even my mother isn't snoring. The stairs don't squeak, my feet don't suction to the floor. It's just an eerie calm. All except for the ringing in my ears, which seems amplified with each step I take. It's giving me a headache, and looking around makes my heart throb painfully. Without even thinking about it I go to the garage, grab my keys, and get in my car. I don't really know where to go but if I don't get away from my house, I'll suffocate in the silence as it closes around me.

I'm starting the car and pulling out before I know what I'm doing. The action provides comfort though, as it's such a routine to me; such a seemingly normal  thing to do, like I'm about to go to school. The dash says it's a little past six thirty, and I have the whole day to kill, but doing what, I'm not sure. I already picked up my last paycheck earlier this week and recieved my plane ticket in the mail yesterday from my gramma. So, I go down the dirt road and just drive with the windows down, hoping I still remember how to breathe. The bike trail that goes through my neighborhood shines brilliantly in the dawn's orangey light. I can almost see my younger teenage self walking down it, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, usually alone except for a few times. The farther I drive from it, the more the memory fades until it is nothing. Gone. Snip, one more string cut loose releasing me that much more.

The grassy park comes up on my left and I see myself swinging and looking at the clouds, sitting on a picnic bench and wondering how I'll ever heal what I've broken, and lying in the grass on an autumn day with the one I love more than I've loved anything ever. I want to cry now, but tears don't come. I buried my hurt a long time ago. And just like that with a straight face, I keep on driving until I reach the highway, my chest feels as though it's caving in with each passing mile. Snip. Another string. My eyes are burning and I turn a little too sharply around the corner, but the streets seem empty and quiet too. No birds, not many cars. Just the rush of wind through my windows to drown out the ringing in my ears.

I still don't know where I'm going or where I might end up. For now, I'm following the highway. The train is in its station, immobile. More cars appear but I can't hear them, can't see them. My eyes are blurring, and all my concentration gets used up on trying to hold back everything that's trying to escape. And I'll lose all of it. Everything. The past 6 years, every memory, good and bad. That tiny box in my attic corner is trying to open and I'm scared I can't stop it. The good memories hurt to remember, but I still want them there. I can't let go of the bad ones without the others going with. They can't escape, because then so will he. All his essence. Everything he is to me and more, gone. Let out. It won't happen. It can't. I won't let it. I have to fight to hang onto what I have left of him, and of me, because who knows if I'll get it back.

I'm turning right down a shaded road, my face still locked in the same position. I am a statue. I learned it from him. When my world around me and inside me is crashing down and nothing but chaos, my mask is on, and no one ever has to know but me. A mask that hides my face, a face that's hiding the pain, a pain that's eating my heart. A girl nobody really knows. The road is rough beneath my little car as I go up a small hill, where a small lake opens up its mouth before me. My car is winding through the trees and the shade, my heart pounding hard yet still slow in my ears. I drive until the road ends. Then I get out, and I run. Though I don't know what exactly I'm running from. From here, from now, from my past, my present and future, myself... I'm running, and I stop at a private opening next to the water, covered in sticks and sand. And I drop to my knees.

The muggy air is on my skin, a tight blanket I can't get out of. My heart is so loud it fills my entire body and the whole world around me. It's in my throat and I'm choking on a scream that won't come. All that does come is a single tear. And within it holds everything in that tiny box in my mind's attic. My body is an open wound, bleeding out until there is nothing left, bleeding until I am just the sand around me. The pain is sharp, inside and out, all around and all over. The world doesn't exist, just me and this feeling. A feeling I can't escape because I am the feeling. If I didn't know better and have a little piece of sanity left inside me, I would think I'm dying, or that I'm already dead. But death should be peaceful, and I'd almost welcome it now.

Kaleb. In that name holds everything I live for, everything I'd die for, my forever, my heart, my love. A name I avoid like the plague and a face that is slowly fading from me. He is escaping me, let loose. Snip snip snip, so many strings cut, but he is not just a string. He is the final, thick metal cord holding me to the ground. And I can't break free. If it's being cut loose, it will take a million years to completely cut it. I don't want to hurt like this anymore, but I can never lose him. Not again. I am left to hurt and wish and wonder until he comes back, if he ever does. I can't die until I know, and who knows when that will be. Maybe never, because that's what it feels like. 

At first I think the ground is shaking, but then I realize it's just me. I want to cry but I can't. I'm finally ready to cry and let it out and I can't. No relief, just that open wound feeling. For all I know, I could have been sitting there for a million years, crying tearlessly, but when I sit up out of the sand, it's only been a few hours. The sun feels hot on my skin, and not in a comforting way. I don't want to get up but I know I should. As much as I'd love to die right here and now in a place that holds good memories, I can't, and I've just ruined its serenity. 

I don't remember walking to my car or getting into it or starting it. But as I drove farther away from the place that showed me I could find beauty in dirt, I feel more empty than I thought possible, and I've been empty for so long now. I drive through every part of town, near and far until my car is on "E" and so am I. There's nothing left to do or say goodbye to, and it will be time to eat in an hour or so. My mom might be worried about me, though she's always been worried about me since he left. She saw the change and, like everyone else, didn't know what to do. 

The drive home goes by and before I know it, I'm in my garage. I sit there for a few moments, waiting for the ringing to return, but it doesn't, and something seems even wronger than before. I smooth my hair and wipe the sand from my jeans before getting out of the car and walking into the house.

Instantly I am hit with so many sensations. I smell perfumes and warm bodies and food, I hear talking and music, and see all the people I ever felt close to standing around my kitchen and living room. I'm swept up into hugs and surrounded by a bunch of eyes and laughter. I can't even stop any of them from doing it either, no strength left in me to speak or move, the mass is moving me with them instead. Claustrophobia takes over again. I'm so dizzy. Someone should turn off the music, it's loud and upbeat. The smell of food makes the waves of sickness return and I just need to get away. 

And just like that, the music changes to a song that reaches me through the confusion, and the wound opens up again, wider, reaching to the ends of the earth. People are getting more excited, having no clue what I might be thinking. But all I can think about is turning off the song. Through the mass of friends telling me how much they miss me, I push and push, mumbling to the air to turn it off. I know no one can hear me, no one is listening, but I keep pushing until I get to the living room and to the stereo. The lights are off and I can't see very well, and people are in my way.

"TURN IT OFF!"

I never knew I could still be so loud. Everyone stops talking and looks at me, the eyes closing me in, and in that moment, tears find me. I collapse on the floor. The lyrics ring throughout the room.

"That's what we're waiting for, darling..."

The song is right in my ear, it's embracing me, enveloping me, and its heart beats in time with mine. I'm crying harder than I have in years. And all I can do is sway in time to it, crying on it's shoulder while it's whispering in my ear.

"That's what we're waiting for, aren't we?"

That voice. Impossible. A voice I swore I'd forgotten, lost in my memories somewhere dark and untraceable. A heart I thought I'd never hear again. A warmth I thought I'd never hold again. A love I thought I'd never get to feel again. Eyes that no longer hold ice, but melted caramel and opened up a gateway into all the memories I just let go of. A wish I stopped wishing for, a dream I never dared to dream, a hope I never let myself hope for. And in that moment, the mask was broken, the mask that hid our faces, the mask that hid the pain, the pain that ate our hearts, a heart only he really knows. He's a light in the darkness, a roar in the silence, a wave on the shore, air in my lungs, love in my heart, forever in my eternity, a man back from the graveyard of memories. 

And a kiss so overwhelmingly beautiful, the sun outside shines a little brighter. Just for us. A life I'm ready to live, a future I'm ready to face, because I've waited for a long time for this without even knowing it. My entire existence lead up to this very moment. I have my Kaleb back, completely unharmed, heart beating, and just for me. That's what we've been waiting for.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful and beautiful story. You took the reader to many places and thoughts. I like the many situations and thoughts in the story. I like the positive ending to the outstanding story.
Coyote

[Brittany]

I don't know why you have so many views and no comments. I absolutely loved this. Was captivated by the story. It was well written with good descriptions. It might have been a bit redundant but I also liked that about it because when you feel this way, it's a constant circle in your head. The pain, the emotion, were described well and I was rooting for Kaleb to come home. Brilliant.