Page 49 of Best Friend Burden

What if my phone calls distracted her and that's why she crashed?

What if this or what if that? There were a million what-ifs of things that could happen but didn't. I needed to take a deep breath and do whatever I could to distract myself. Because she had nowhere else to go, right? She'd have to come back at some point, if only to pick up her stuff.

Unless she didn't, I thought, reminding myself that if things went where I feared they might, she wouldn't have any use for her clothes or toothbrush.

I was nervous and scared and didn't know what to do with the energy I had. But I couldn't leave the apartment because what if she did come back? So I climbed the stairs, returned to my apartment, and began cleaning everything up. Yeah, it was her responsibility, but I needed to get all of this out of here as soon as possible, lest I do something stupid. Something I’d regret for the rest of my life. Just like losing my temper with Wendy.

My brain continued to fight with itself, one half saying she was fine and the other half telling me she was dead and I'd never see her again. Through that inner debate, I managed to clean up the bulk of the apartment. Truth be told, it wasn't that bad. It just seemed like it was bad when all the people were inside and the music was playing.

Perception and shock could do a lot to someone, making things seem worse than they were.

With nothing else to occupy my mind and a complete inability to sleep, despite it being well past midnight, I turned on the TV and pulled out a deck of cards. While watching an old movie, I flipped through the deck, practicing the cardistry tricks I knew. Anything to keep my hands busy.

Every sound that could have been footsteps from down the hall got my attention, hoping that it would be Melody.

But it wasn't.

At some point, out of pure exhaustion, I fell asleep. I awoke the next morning to cards all over the floor and the tv still going.

I could hear the keys in the lock and, when the door opened, I could see Melody was still there. Alive and well, though her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was disheveled.

Not only had she not slept much last night, she was hung over now.

“Melody,” I said, approaching her to hug her, but she clenched her body up and pushed me away.

“No,” she said as she backed away. The words were soft, but clear. She may as well have shot me through the heart for the pain that one word caused, but so long as she was alive, she could say or do whatever she wanted for all I cared.

“Okay,” I said, “okay.”

I ran to the kitchen and poured her a cup of water.

“Here,” I said, “drink this. You'll feel better.”

She looked at the water skeptically. I could see the inner workings of her mind, and they told me she didn't want to accept an act of kindness from me at the moment.

“I'm sorry,” I told her. “I shouldn't have yelled at you.”

And then I bit my tongue, lest I allow any excuses to come out of my mouth. I'd apologized enough in life to know that less was more. I'm sorry. Period. Don't try to explain it away. Just be sorry.

I looked into her eyes with hope. Hope she would accept the glass of water as a peace offering and hope that the apology would at least be a start.

She did take the water and drank as much of it as she could before sitting down on the couch.

When she did, I couldn’t help but say more, even though I knew I should have just left it at an apology. The words were practically forcing themselves out of my mouth. I needed her to understand the severity of what she did.

“When you left, I was afraid you died. I don’t think you can understand how scary that was for me, ” I said. “because it’s had happened before.”

There was a look of recognition in her eyes, but she said nothing.

“I was hoping for a call from you and so I kept my phone on, but I was terrified that the next call was going to be from the…”

I couldn’t even say the words. She had to finish it.

“...the coroner’s,” she said.

“Exactly.”

She sat there, pensive, and I hoped my words were making an impact on her.

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