I Miss You So Much
Sunday, October 24th, 2004
I Miss You So Much
A Dom Entry
I woke up this morning on the floor of the post office. I’ve never done anything like this before.
As soon as I opened my eyes, the memory of last night hit me like a jab in the stomach. Tears welled up in my dry eyes and I started sobbing mid-breath, as though I were continuing from what I began last night, when I landed here on this cold floor. Did I really say all of those things to Billy? I can’t begin to imagine how much I hurt him. How I hurt him... I hurt him? After a year of wonderful existence with him, I made him hurt. I belittled the fact that his parents had died, and I practically said that it meant nothing to me. I didn’t think about anything but winning.
Why would that have mattered to me? Do I really have some black, hidden part of me, deep inside, that would have wanted so much to win an argument against my only love that I won at his expense? Did I really want to say those things; did I really mean them, deep down in my most secret feelings? Does a person have feelings so secret that he himself doesn’t know what they are?
No. No, no, no, I don’t have them. I don’t have any feelings about hurting Billy. I can’t have them. It isn’t possible. How can I have room for things like that when I love him so much? I love him, it makes my heart so big. I can’t have room for things that terrible.
I got up from the floor a half hour after waking. But I didn’t stop crying. Every part of me hurt, not counting the bruised and bent muscles sore from my hard linoleum and concrete bed; not counting the long, red scrape down my leg left from running into the post office with my bike; not counting the little scars left from where my keys had been squeezed against my hand for hours. My heart was hanging on the last cruel threads of my hope with Billy, part of it broken and tempting to fall into the darkest part of me; the place where all of this was created. Where had I found those words that I’d used last night? Was it from that hollow place that I can feel in my stomach? Or from the tightened and weary place, trashing about in my head? Everything hurts. But most of all when I think about Billy.
He shouldn’t think about me. After what I said, he shouldn’t have to love me. He shouldn’t listen to the crying of my heart to love him more and more with every beat, because he deserves better; he deserves to hurt me. He should see me sitting here alone in this place. He should leaf through all of my tragedies and mistakes, making little of every one, and then turn and walk away from me like I did to him.
I knew, even last night, I should have said I was sorry. I should have said it even before I said those last unforgivable words. I knew what I was thinking; I didn’t like myself at all for thinking it. I should have just said I was sorry and walked away from my own terrible thoughts before it was too late.
It’s too late. I’ve never wanted to do this to him. I never want to do it to him again. I never want to see his angry tears again; I never want to hear his voice shouting like that at me. I’ve never wanted to see him more than I do right now.
What have I done? My Billy, I’m so sorry now. You know I didn’t mean it... Do you? I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t...
It wasn’t me speaking. It couldn’t have been. When I said those things, I could hear my voice, but I couldn’t feel it... not like I usually do when I say things to Billy. Words like “I love you, Billy” and “I need you” and “You are so beautiful” usually leave footprints inside of me, on my heart. Those words I said last night... I didn’t feel them leave tracks on me at all. I just... I just watched them stomp on him. Those frightened and tearful eyes looked at me as though they hated me, and his voice rose with such shaking, at any other time in my life... any other time, I would have taken him in my arms and hushed the trembling away. But I wanted to win; he sent me out of our house. He said he didn’t want me there anymore.
I’m sitting in Marty’s old swiveling chair. He’s got a point, sitting in this thing as much as he used to... It’s very comfortable... I’ve been thinking about that, I guess. It seems crazy, but since my tears have slowed down, I’ve been very quiet; I’ve been thinking about a lot of simple things. I’m trying to be reasonable. I’m trying not to think of Billy, because every time I do, a sob gets caught in my throat and nearly chokes me.
Has it ended? What do I do? He’s never kicked me out before. He’s never looked at me like that. He probably doesn’t want me back, right? This is how people break up. Hell, oh hell... This is how people break up, isn’t it?
I begin to think about my last girlfriend, back in England. And the more I recall, the more it feels like this. I left her during a fight. I didn’t care about her when I left; I didn’t care about anything.
That scares me. It’s funny that people can scare themselves so much... But... Not caring... about anything. That scares me. For a year now, I’ve cared about a lot of things. I cared a lot when my bus broke down here; I had nowhere to go, and I didn’t really know where I was to begin with. I had no money, really, and I cared a lot about that, too. I cared when Marty gave me an old shack by the river to use as a home. I cared about the rain every night living in that rotten old house, afraid that it would cause the roof to cave in on my head. I cared about my job at the post office, because I needed the money, but I also cared in a less responsible way about getting up so early to make the job on time. And when I was on my first rounds, I cared a great deal... Hah, I remember I cared a really great deal about finding the streets and addresses. I thought I’d get lost in this town for sure; I cared about that, too. And I cared... I cared when I noticed a broken mailbox on the side of the road. I cared enough to deliver the mail to the porch, and I certainly cared when a cat fell on my head and nearly scalped me. I cared... I cared when the man who owned the cat came out to help me gather my spilled mail, and took me inside, and patched my head, and became my first and only friend in this whole town. The more I got to know him, the more deeply I cared for him. I cared jealously when I found a card addressed to him, which I was sure was from someone who he cared about more than me. I cared when I found out that it wasn’t true. With everything that occurred between us, from the anonymous letters, to the horrible mistakes made between myself and Leon, to that wonderful, perfect, snowy Christmas Eve when he said he loved me for the very first time...I’ve cared for Billy so much. I care about him more than anyone; I want to tell him that now, before I leave forever. I still care about him.
But last night; last night I didn’t care about anything. Anything. That scares me. I didn’t care about him, how he felt when I yelled at him, or myself, when I hurt myself more than I could have understood by walking out of his door and never saying I was sorry.
I want to tell him that I care now. I want to tell him that I love him, and I will never, never stop caring about things again. That will never happen again. It scares me too much. It hurts too much.
But I can’t tell him that... I can’t. How could I? He doesn’t want me there anymore. Would it be wrong to see him, just to tell him, and then to leave? Would he mind; would he be able to hear my voice one more time through the same filthy, awful mouth that shouted those things at him last night? Certainly, then... I suppose in that case... I’ll never kiss Billy again.
A sob shudders through my body in one stroke, and I curl into my hands and cry, shaking my head obsessively and wailing apologies and questions unintelligibly into my wet palms. Why, why why why why why why… I moan, mouth still open and pressed to my skin. My stomach hurts so much. I need to throw up. I’m so sick... Help, I’m so bloody sick...
Billy... Billy, I’m sorry... Billy I want to tell you I’m sorry... Listen I’m so sorry... Help me... I pour the words between my fingers, tasting warm salt. A breath snaps into my lungs painfully. I love you so much... I love you...
Tears drip down into the cracks of my fingers and my sobs grow soft as I feel each wet trail. I sigh into my hands, breathing hard and not wanting to sit up. I just want to listen to myself breathing. In and out... In and out...
If I’m going to leave him, then he has to know. I won’t leave him unless he knows. Everything. He has to know everything. He has to know how miserable I feel for what I said. He has to know I didn’t mean any of it; not even the sound of my voice in any word. Most of all, I love him. More than anything... I love him.
I lift my head slowly from my hands and look up through my tears. I wipe my hands down my shorts; my postal worker shorts that I’m still wearing from work yesterday. I wipe my hands, thinking about being at work on a Sunday. Then I wipe my eyes and have to dry them on my shorts again. Since I’m at work, I should be sorting. I should be making myself useful, since I’m here. McKenzie left early yesterday, so there are probably more letters to sort than usual. But there are always more letters coming in. One thing the world doesn’t need is... one..more...
Letter.
I sit up in Marty’s chair and scoot myself close to the front desk, pulling out drawers frantically. I need paper. I need to write a letter. Opening the bottom drawer, I find a stack of blank paper and take out a section of it, setting it on the desk before me, clean and ready to be ruined by my handwriting. I grab a nearby pen, not even bothering to look for a pencil, and begin to write my letter just as it sounds in my head, just as I’m feeling it word by word, because I figure that will be the most honest way I can possibly tell Billy how I feel.
The clock is still ticking, and as I finish the letter, I look up to its face and notice the time. 11:55am. I didn’t think it would be so early. And I must have been writing for at least two hours. Quickly, I look back to the last page of my letter and sign it; “Love, no matter where I am, all the time, - Dom.” And taking up all of the pages, I put them back in order and fold them up. I open the second drawer next to me and retrieve an envelope, just managing to get the whole letter into it. I lick the flap and press it closed, securely, then pick up my pen to write our address on the front. Billy’s address...on the front. Pulling a stamp off of the reel below the desk, I stick it to the corner of the envelope and finally get up from Marty’s chair, heading for the back room. The large bins are too full to have been sorted right yesterday... I set my jaw as I look into one of them. All of those letters... I wonder if any of them are like mine. Well, here, Billy. I told you I’d still write to you after MS, didn’t I? I haven’t been very good at keeping my promises, but if this makes up for a little of it, I’ll be happy. Goodbye, love. I drop the envelope into the bin and watch it hit the rest of the pile. It begins to blend in. I can hardly tell it apart from the other letters. It’s just another piece of paper I’ll have to deliver on another workday. Just another piece of paper with someone’s heart all over it.
I lost him.
I love him.
Almost sounds the same now... Almost blends in.
I love him. I love him with all my heart. I can’t lose him with all my heart. I can’t lose him as deep as the universe. I can’t lose him as big as the sky.
Tears rim my eyes and I turn and walk out of the back room, returning to sit in Marty’s chair, curling my arms around my stomach.
I see the phone on the front desk. It’s black. It looks like an old dial phone, but it has a number pad, with buttons, and I don’t know why, but I’m picking up the receiver and pressing the buttons now one by one. I must be crazy... The whole world deserves to think so, too. I’m calling to let the world know.
I listen to the dull ring echo in the earpiece once or twice before someone picks up. A woman’s voice speaks into my ear.
“Hallo?”
My mind wakes up and I inhale.
“Jenny?” I ask, not really believing it’s actually her. I haven’t heard her voice in so long...
“Yes, who’s speaking?” she answers.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here...” my voice trails, forgetting to answer her question.
Her voice becomes more demanding; “Who is this?”
I straighten in Marty’s chair, not sure if I still want to answer that question. It is kind of strange, now that I think about it. I should have known what I wanted to say before I called.
“It’s Dom,” I speak, starting a bit. Will she hang up? “Dom Monaghan. You remember?”
There’s a long pause on the other end before her voice melts lowly into the phone.
“Dom...” She pauses again. And then adds, “Why the hell are you calling me?”
“I’m sorry,” I try. “Jenny, I had to call you. I was... I was thinking about what happened...”
“Bloody hell,” she growls after I stop. “Dom, that was over a year ago; get off it. I have a new boyfriend now, and you can bloody well leave me alone, all right? Thank you...”
“Wait! Wait! Jenny!” I catch her as she begins to hang up. “Stop! Wait, all right? Wait.”
I bend over the edge of the front desk, resting my arms stiffly. I feel nervous; my fingers begin to tremble and I have to curl my hand into a fist to keep them still. I sigh, and listen for a dial tone, but it doesn’t come.
“...Jenny, I know you probably have a new boyfriend - ”
“I do have a new boyfriend. I told you, so don’t sodding come to me now begging for - ”
“I’m not,” I state firmly, honestly. “You can have him. I’m happy for you. I really am. I’m sorry it’s been so long. I should have called you before, and I’m sorry. I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
She huffs into the phone, but I don’t blame her for not believing me.
“Sorry,” she drops into my ear. “Sorry for what, Dom? For not calling me earlier? Well that’s fine. Ok? I forgive you. You can go on with your life now.”
“No, that’s not it,” I reply softly. It hurts to do this. But I have to do this for some reason. To make everything better before I go away. “I’m sorry... Jenny, I’m sorry for leaving you. Especially the way I did. I should have never left during a fight. You must’ve hated me.”
“Yeah, well...” she sighs into the phone, sounding as though she’s conceding a little bit. “I did a little. For a while.”
“I understand that...” I speak with a twinge of pain. Billy must feel that way, too... “I should have... I should have waited; said I was sorry, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I just realised today that I should have said sorry,” I finish.
There’s a pause again, and then her voice changes pitch abruptly.
“You realised that today, huh?” she asks.
“Yes.” There’s nothing else I can say.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Okay, well, thanks. I feel a lot better now. Really. And I’ve got to go, okay? Will is here now; I’ve got to go.”
“Will?” I ask absently.
“My boyfriend. William. He’s here,” she replies. “I have to go.”
“Oh,” I say, voice finally waking up a bit. “Okay, uh. Thanks for, um- Nice talking to you again. Thanks. Thanks for listening.”
“Yeah, nice talking to you, too,” she answers, dismissively, but politely. “Goodbye.”
I feel my breath slow a bit, and the trembling in my hand is gone. “Bye.”
The phone clicks and the dial tone hits my ear.
That’s it then. It’s okay. I set down the phone and quietly lean back into Marty’s chair. My hands curl around my stomach again, and I look out at nothing in particular. After only a second, my arms suddenly bounce on my stomach when I laugh, thinking to myself. William... The corner of my mouth curves upward. We both ended up with boyfriends... named William... My arms bounce on my stomach again and then my mind calms, slowly receding into thought. My smile fades. I don’t feel the laughter swimming around in me anymore. There isn’t even a trace left. Because it doesn’t seem funny anymore. It isn’t so much of a coincidence. Not when I don’t have a boyfriend named William anymore. I continue to look at nothing in particular. And I look and I look, and I refuse to stop looking. Even when the tears start to rim my eyes again. I keep looking at nothing until everything becomes a blur, and the sobs start in my throat again. No, no... Don’t start again... Please don’t start; I’m fine now. Everything’s okay. I’ve done everything. I have. Billy will know soon that I’m sorry; even Jenny knows I’m sorry. Jenny; little Jenny all the way in England, in the same little flat I left her in, screaming at me to leave. She’s okay. Billy will be okay too. I’ll be okay.
The blurriness in my eyes falls out onto my cheeks and stops. I can see that nothing in particular again. There it is, right in front of me. And all around me. And all within me.
Is everything really nothing in particular without Billy?
My body trembles as I try to ease back into the chair. It used to feel so comfortable. Now it isn’t big enough to hold me, because I want to lie down and curl into the cushion. I want it to be warmer than this, too. It isn’t right. Nothing is right. I’m not okay yet. My breath stops, and it occurs to me... I won’t be okay for a very long time.
How long did it take before Jenny felt okay? How long was it before she stopped looking at pictures of me or dreaming of me? How long before she stopped crying and could go back to work, eat normal meals at normal times, talk to other people without sounding fake? How long before she felt normal again, and had a normal routine, and found another boyfriend? Do I want another boyfriend?
My breath enters sharply, and I hold it in thought. Another boyfriend?
What would he look like?
What would he sound like? He probably wouldn’t be Scottish, would he? Would he smell good, like stale soap and the garden? Would he even want a garden? Would he want to share a bed, and stay up late asking silly questions, and kissing for no reason? Would he like to kiss at the front door, even if we hadn’t been apart and weren’t about to leave? Would he wear glasses when he reads? What if he had three dogs, instead of three cats? What if he didn’t like any flavor but chocolate ice cream? Would he talk about sex with me? Or would he be too nervous? Would he love everything I gave him for his birthday? Would he smile at me if I forget our anniversaries? Or would he be mad? What if he liked to be messy, and didn’t care how the house looked, and didn’t always make his side of the bed? What if he liked milk chocolate better than dark? Or white chocolate? What if he couldn’t stand to hear me sing, or laughed when I tried to tell him he was beautiful? What if he was taller than me rather than a half-inch shorter? What if he looked to me for everything, instead of holding me and telling me it was okay? Would he love me? Would he really love me? Would I feel it when he said it like I feel it in my heart, through all of my body, into my soul as I give myself to him...like when Billy says it?
Oh no, Billy... My expression turns desperate, and my whole body feels like its being twisted in sorrow. Billy, I still love you..., I plea to no one. You know me better than anyone. I don’t want anyone. I don’t want anyone else but you. My hands grab around my sides firmly; that sick feeling is pushing up inside of me again. Every time I think of him, it’s like I lose him again. He’s missing; part of me is missing. Billy, you’re a part of me, I speak as tears roll down my face. You’re most of me. You’re my home and my lover and my best friend, and I never thought I’d lose you.
I bend over my stomach sobbing, holding tight around my middle and letting the tears fall from my eyes to the floor.
Billy, I want you back! Billy, I want you back, I want you back, I want you- I need you back or I’ll die without you! I love you, Billy, I love you deeper than the universe; I love you bigger than the sky; I love you bigger than my own heart, Billy, please, please... I love you, Billy, and I don’t even know what that means! But I do; I do forever!!
Tears are streaming down my cheeks to my chin, dripping off like rain from a rooftop. I don’t want to stop; I want to keep crying until I have no tears left; until Billy comes looking for me and loves me again. Say you love me again... I imagine a puddle growing underneath me, spreading under this chair to the edges of every wall in this room. My tears keep falling in it and splashing one by one, making it deeper and deeper until its reaching up the stand of this chair. It’s just touching my shoes.
I barely open my eyes as my tears are coming down, and I slide off of my chair into the puddle, but no puddle sloshes at my legs as I run to the edge of the front desk and pick up the phone. There’s no damp feeling soaking heavily into my shoes as I begin to dial out a familiar number, praying, begging that someone will answer me soon.
The phone rings once, and someone answers.
“Hello?” a sweet voice comes through the line. I shake with another sob when I hear it, and I even smile beneath my continuing tears.
“Mum?” I try to speak through a broken voice.
There’s an astonished pause emanating from the other end of the line, and I listen intently, adoringly.
“Matt?”
I almost laugh with surprise, and sniff, voice squeaking unexpectedly, “No, mum, it’s Dom.”
My smile grows as I almost hear her heart beating.
“Oh, Dommie!” she exclaims, voice tinted with a sense of longing, and it shudders right through me. “Dommie, are you all right? Why haven’t you called me?”
“I’m sorry, mum, I...” I sniff again, tears slowing. “I don’t know why I didn’t call you.”
“You’ve always been so independent,” she says, and I can hear her smile. “Like me!”
I smile softly.
“How are you?” she continues. “How’s Billy?”
Her words startle a sobbing laugh from my lips and I try to hide it with a small cough, thinking quickly, “Well, he’s. I think he’s...” My heart begins to sink, and I can’t lie; I can’t make it nothing. It isn’t nothing.
“Mum, I did something awful,” I choke out another sob, and my tears begin again, falling more quickly than before, even though I’m trying harder than ever to hold them in.
“Ohh, oh, no, love, it’s all right,” she coos softly, and for some reason, I instantly begin to calm, breathing softly in the receiver. “What happened, hm, love? Are you all right?”
“Yeh,” I answer lightly, trying to swallow away the tightness in my throat. “But I hurt Billy.”
My own voice induces more tears, and I feel my stomach tightening to stop them.
“Oh, no, oh, it’s all right,” she continues. “What is it, Dommie? Did you fight?”
“Uh huh,” I swallow again. “I said horrible things; I didn’t mean it. I feel so stupid. I feel like.. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if Billy... I don’t know if he...”
I can’t keep doing this. I’m making a sodding fool of myself in front of my own mother. I can’t keep crying like this. I’m not a kid anymore; I can handle this alone, can’t I? Does she still want to help me; I haven’t called her like I should have. I didn’t even care. I didn’t want her help...
“Love, I just spoke with Billy the other day,” Mum states calmly, voice reasoning delicately over my sadness. “He sounded just fine. He invited your dad and I over for Thanksgiving, did he tell you?”
“Yeh, he told me.” The tears are flowing down my face. She won’t understand what I’ve said to Billy. She’ll hate me for it, too. She will, she will... She’ll be just as reasonable as Billy and make me feel completely awful... She’s right; she’s right to be mad at me. They’re both right to make me feel awful. I should feel awful. There’s nothing wrong with my parents. There’s nothing wrong with them. There’s nothing wrong, nothing wrong... I feel I’m on the brink of something terrible. My heart shatters at once and my voice crumbles as I speak into the phone; “Mum, I love you. I miss you. I want to see you and Dad again, Mum, please... I do want to see you again, so much. I love you so much. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Mum, I’m sorry.”
My breath shudders over the little sound she makes into the phone, and her voice turns suddenly unstable. Oh... I sniff back the rest of my tears, surprised. I didn’t mean to make her cry.
“Oh, Dommie...” her voice breaks. “I love you so much, you don’t know how much your Dad and I have missed you! We haven’t seen you in so long.” She sighs and I can almost see her wiping her eyes carefully. There’s a pause, and she sniffs, too. “You’ll see us at Thanksgiving, though, won’t you?”
I laugh a little in spite of myself, wiping back some of my own tears from my face. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe what I’m going to say.
“Yeh,” I say, nodding a little, though she can’t see. “Yeh, at Thanksgiving. I’ll see you both then. And I’ll cook you whatever you want. You know... the kind of gravy Dad likes.”
“Oh, that awful stuff,” Mum laughs tearfully, and then continues, “You’ll make two pots of gravy then. The edible one is for me and anyone else who wants it.”
I laugh again. My heartbeat calms at the sound of her humor, and I lean gently against the desk counter.
“What vegetables do you want?” I ask.
“None,” she laughs, and my stomach suddenly fills with laughter in return. I can’t believe how much I’m smiling.
“Okay,” I reply finally, conceding very easily with her request. “None. But Billy will be mad...” My smile drops slightly.
“Oh, yes...” she speaks, recalling. “Is he all right? You were saying...”
“Yeah, I...” My eyes watch the desk solemnly. “I dunno...how he is...”
“Will he be well soon?” she asks. It shocks me that she sounds... She sounds like she knows what I’ve done to him... even from so far away. “In time for Thanksgiving, I hope,” she finishes.
I look up toward the windows of the post office, and watch the sunlight trickle over the roofs of the buildings across the street. I don’t speak for a moment. The sunlight filters through the windows and into the room, and when it touches the desk and reaches my arm, I feel warmth soak into my skin there. The weatherman on channel 6 didn’t know what he was talking about. When did I ever believe weathermen anyway? Look, it can be sunny again.
“Dom?” Mum’s voice brings me back, and I look down to the sun resting on my hand.
“Yes,” I speak suddenly. “Yeh, Mum, Billy...” I watch my hand, and suddenly pick it up, standing straight and stepping away from the support of the counter. My heart beats in my throat; I rest my arm at my side and press the phone tightly to my ear. “Billy will be okay by Thanksgiving.”
“Good,” she states, smiling. “Good; I’m looking forward to meeting him so much.”
“I want you to meet him so much,” I reply, soft smile ebbing at my lips.
“Be sure to ring us and let us know all of the details. I can’t sit here forever before I buy my plane tickets, you know. And I have to pack, and that always takes me ages, it seems.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know,” I answer calmly.
“Okay,” she says with finality. Then, hesitating: “Oh, and Dom?”
“Yes?”
“Send Billy our love,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure you know how.”
“Mum!” I laugh, gripping the phone and smiling, though I know she’s going to leave me soon.
“Well, anyway, I love you, dear. I have to get dinner on now...”
“Tell Dad I love him,” I speak quickly, holding on.
“I will,” she replies softly.
“I love you,” I repeat, standing rigidly. Don’t leave me; what do I do?
“I love you, too, love. We’re thinking about you both. Call us soon,” she replies. Then there’s a pause, and it seems like an eternity to me. She breathes in gently and then says, “Goodbye, Dominic.”
I still my breath, looking down longingly. “...Goodbye, Mum.”
The phone clicks, and she’s gone.
My body shudders, and I put the phone down silently. My eyes are burning as though they can’t pour out anymore tears, no matter how lonely I am.
Billy will be okay by Thanksgiving...
Billy will be okay.
I’ll be okay.
I want to see him. Billy... My heart thuds in my chest and I feel too weak to stand. I want to fall down on the floor. I haven’t been alone for this long since... Since I left...
My home. Mum, I want to come home... I want to come home, please... Billy... Billy, please let me come home.
I tremble and want to cry.
Billy... I want to come home.
He doesn’t want me there anymore. He doesn’t want me... I feel like holding the pieces of my heart in my hands and trying to push them back together. But... No. I feel like holding the pieces of his heart instead. I want to make him better. This is all my fault. I have to... I have to say I’m sorry...
Looking up wearily, I begin to walk around the front desk of the office, slowly making my way across the barren floor of the room toward the front door. With every step, I become stronger, and more afraid. I’m afraid of seeing him; of reliving last night. But I keep walking, pushing open the front door gradually until I can step out into daylight. I pull my keys from my pocket and turn to lock the door, hearing the bolt click and retrieving my keys into my jacket pocket. I turn around the corner of the post office and see my bike still lying in the grass and gravel beside, toppled over. I pick it up and feel my sickness and tears start in my stomach as I hop onto the seat. With my first shove on the pedal, I cough out a dry sob and listen to myself tremble softly as my tires skitter down the main street of town.
Billy will be okay by Thanksgiving.
I have to tell him it’ll be okay. For both of us. No matter what happens. As long as I say I’m sorry. Everything will be okay, in a little while. Just a little while.
I pedal harder. I’m so afraid. He doesn’t want me there anymore. This is how people break up, this is how people break up, this is how. Let me hold your heart together with my hands, I want to make it better. I want you to be okay. I just want you to be okay.
Billy... I want to come home.
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