Day 90

Day 90

It’s been four days since I’ve found something to eat. Twenty-seven since I’ve run into anyone. Ninety since I fled that awful place. And ninety one days without her.

I don’t know why I keep expecting things to get better. I wake up every day and, for a split second, I feel like everything is normal. But, when I reach over to feel her warmth beside me, all I feel is the damp soil and leaves and branches that have replaced my white cotton sheets.

I remember the day we bought those. I told her we didn’t need such expensive bedding if it was just for sleeping in but she insisted. She told me, “It’s comforting things that make a house feel like a home”. And she was right. The first night we slept in them, I pulled her close, smelled her hair, and we fell asleep tangled up in those overly priced sheets. I never realized how much they meant to me until now…

Being alone out here wouldn’t be so bad if the memories weren’t overwhelming me. Everywhere I look I am reminded of her. The trees look of those we laid under on our third date. She surprised me that day and I’ll never forget the smile on her face when she pulled that basket out of the trunk and yelled “We’re having a picnic!”

When I walk down to the stream to ease my thirst the sound of the water makes me think of our seventh date when I took her to the river to go fishing. She looked so perfect with the sun beaming down on her. The sound of her squeal when she got that trout and it flopped up on the river bank makes me smile now. But it fades quickly knowing I will never hear it again.

I reach into my pocket to make sure it’s still there. The cold metal reassures me. I do that more than I should for a guy who only has one pair of pants, but what would I do if I lost it? It’s all I have left of her now. That and the memories.

Every day I feel like I lose a bit of myself to these woods. Like they are slowly swallowing me up. Making me a part of them as I fade without her.

I’ve been wondering for a while now how much longer I can keep this up. How much longer I can pretend that I am living. This isn’t living. This is simply existing. I know she would want me to live. For her. And I have been…sort of. But this isn’t what we had planned when we decided to run for it. We were supposed to be together. She was supposed to be here. She should be here.

I’ve tried not to think about that day but somehow my thoughts cannot escape it. When the bomb strike hit we didn’t know what to think. No one did. But I don’t think anyone imagined being herded in those pens like cattle up for slaughter. For days no one told us what was going on but it was becoming obvious that our government was no longer in control of the place we used to call home. We spoke in hushed tones every night and whispered our thoughts on escaping that reached place. We came up with a plan to dig under the fence on the far side of the camp and run deep into the woods together where no one could find us. We thought if we dug a little each day they might not notice. We were wrong.

The hole was almost big enough on the day it happened. I was on work duty and she was going to finish digging so we could crawl through that night but she got caught. The workers all heard the commotion outside of our tents and as we peered through the flaps to get a look at what was going on, I saw a flash of long blonde hair and my heart stopped. I sprinted towards her, screaming her name, begging them to stop, but it was too late. I was too late.

I stared into her beautiful eyes and clutched her still warm body as they tried to pull me off of her. As they tore me from her, my girl, my world, I pulled the chain from her neck, broke free of their hold, and ran. I ran to our spot, forced my body through the hole that she made just big enough for me to get through, and I took off through the woods. I don’t know how far I ran that day. It’s all a blur. I just kept going until I collapsed and I laid there for what seemed like days until I gathered the strength to get up again. I told myself that she would want me to get up. She would want me to live, for her. But like I said, I am barely existing without her.

I haven’t looked at it since that day. Pulling it from my pocket, the metal shimmered in the sunlight just as it did around her neck every day since I met her. The locket was her grandmothers and she never took it off. She held it every time she was sad and fiddled with it when she was anxious. It seemed to calm her nerves and give her piece of mind. As I twisted it back and forth between my fingers I noticed a small clasp on the side of it that I had never realized before. I pressed on it and the small heart opened and mine sank. Inside the locket was a picture of me. One I never knew she took and one I never knew she kept around her neck all this time. I smiled. For the first time since she left me, I genuinely smiled. She was the one and a life without her is simply not one worth living.

As I write this now I realize something of the utmost importance. I thought the day the bombs hit was the end of life as we knew it. I thought that the fear and devastation suffered on that day would be the worst thing I would ever have to endure. But, I was wrong. The world didn’t end the day of the attack. It ended the day I lost her. I understand now that the end of the world is not what happens around you but what happens within you. A part of me died with her, a part that I cannot get back, and I need to feel whole again. I need to feel her warmth, see her smile, and hear her laugh.

I put her necklace on and took one final swig from my special flask. The one I never thought I would actually use but…here we are.

I think I will lay down and look up at the stars like we always used to do together. Ninety-one days was too long without her. Hell, one day was too long without her. So tomorrow begins day one with her again. I hope she can forgive me. Forgive me for not saving her. Forgive me for not knowing until now the extent of her love for me. And forgive me for not being able to go on any longer without her.