The Inevitable Premonition From This Thing Called Life

“You’re doing it again.” Just like that, my eyes spring open and my head jolts up. Tired russet eyes and a shameless smirk. That’s Nick for you.

“You scared me. Why’d you have to wake me up like that?” I angrily linger at Nick for a moment as I grab the cream cheese next to me. He annoyingly smiles at me, with one eyebrow raised.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” His eyes point below to the empty plate on the table. “Oh, come on, not cool. Give it to me Nicholas.” He looks at me surprisingly. He knows that when I use his full name, I mean business. Nick stands up with both hands above his head, one hand empty and the other with a slice of bread that had clearly been bitten into.

“Guilty as charged.” He bares his teeth and breaks into laughter.

“You’re a fool.” I point my right hand shaped into a gun at him and deeply sigh as I grab the cereal box next to me. “Pew, pew,” I play along for his own good. Nick’s knees unbuckle and he lies down on the floor with his eyes closed. He’s a child. “You’re a child,” I mumble, disinterested, as I eat my stale cereal.

When I look back up, Nick is magically sitting from across me, his sad eyes glued to mine. His face had completely changed. “Ames.” I look around me and try to find anything else to eat. “Amy. Do you want to talk about it?”

I refuse to look at him now. The silence between us becomes so loud that all the noises around me had suddenly become so clear, in a harmonious ensemble ready to present before me. The loud purring from the refrigerator tickles the back of my ears, the hum of the water bubbling in the teapot reminds me of its existence, and the sharp ring of the doorbell finally brings me back to reality. “I should get that.” I still don’t look at him.

I hurriedly rush to open the door. “Amy! I don’t get why you haven’t answered my calls in the past two weeks. That’s no way to treat your mother.” A woman with wild cloudy hair, in a over-sized brown wool coat, and bright red lips shoves past me.

“Ah, hi Mom. Come inside?” She rolls her eyes at me and hands me her wool knit sweater. “You know I’m allergic," I mumble under my breath. My face immediately starts to itch, and I throw it onto the couch as I shut the door.

“What was that dear?” My mom looks around the living room and falls into the velvet couch, her arms extending as far as possible. I look down at the floor, “Well, I said that”-

“I love what you did with the place,” her tone reeks of sarcasm. I sigh as I sit down across from her. Am I supposed to offer her coffee? Do I really need to be polite here? “Do you want something or”-

“Why haven’t you answered my calls Ames.” My chest tightens and the blood rushes to my cheeks. My mom’s face falters.

“Please don’t call me that.” She even looks apologetic.

My mom clears her throat. “Tea would be nice.” I walk to the kitchen and grab the one used teabag I have by the counter. I really need to go grocery shopping. I can’t take the silence now. “Yeah uh, it’s just been busy,” I raise my voice from the kitchen. A moment of silence. My mom edges her body all the way to the end of the couch to have a clear view of me, “Busy, huh? With what exactly? I mean, have you even started to pack? You know you’re leaving in five days, right? I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” I stare down at the ceramic cup, its water replaced with a murky dark brown color.

“You know I don’t like it this dark,” her smudged lips blow on the pungent tea as she looks into my eyes. “It’s no bother, I’ll drink it, I’ll drink it, yeah.” Her eyebrows almost hug each other, and her smile lines more prominent as she looks at the cup in detestation. I try to speak now but nothing comes out. A cold hand suddenly infiltrates my warm one. “I know it’s all bad timing, but this is your life we’re talking about. It is an exciting moment at that! You need to relish this chapter that’s about to start, booboo.” The words hit me like a pierced needle sneaking up into my heart. “Bad timing?” I raise my voice. It was nice while it lasted.

“I wouldn’t put what happened as bad timing. That makes it sounds like an inconvenience. You’re making it sound like smoke came out from the hood of my car as I was trying to leave for some well-earned trip. A person died mom. He’s dead.” The last word rings in the small space that is my house, its echo playing over and over in my ears. My face stings with hot tears and my throat starts to close. My mother lacks empathy, yet I know even she feels upset as she can’t meet my eyes now.

There’s something unspoken about the human experience. We all know the many treacheries of this thing called life. The ever-impending dread that comes with the inevitable loss we will experience, whether that person is someone we love who chooses to leave us or has no choice at all. We spread our grief before everyone, trying to honor the loved soul at the funeral home with faceless people in the crowd who are there to tell you they understand you. We also do it for ourselves. My best friend is dead, and you all need to know it. You all need to watch as I deteriorate before you and whoever is up there, screaming at the top of my lungs with a weight on my chest so prevalent there is no other explanation than that I must be buried under the dirt with him. The universe has a sense of humor to make the brain so powerful that I can feel something like that. There can’t be another explanation for the severity of my lack of breath.

We all know what grieve feels like eventually. We must accept it because who can we even complain to, right? Whatever is up there was smart enough to know that us humans would never let them hear the end of it if it ever were to show itself. But what is left unsaid in conversations between each other, is the downright weirdness of living. It's something we only ever think about on our own, even if we all feel the same on some level. It's when we are left in our room by ourselves, after it's all over. That is when the real feelings come to the surface, the scary ones you really don’t want to talk to anyone else about, because you know they have no answer.

Nick was the kind of person who would remind you of the beauty of life. I relied on him for that. Now, in the blink of an eye, his life was diminished, and his time was up, for reasons I will never know. Where do they go? What do you do the day after they are gone? How am I supposed to pack up and leave everything to start anew?

“Sweetheart?” My eyes open to see my mother looking at me worryingly. “Where were you just now?”

I roughly rub my eyes clear of tears and clear my throat.

“Amy, you graduated high school. That is a big accomplishment. Now, you’re moving away to start fresh. You did it all on your own. I- I know that.” Her voice was nothing but a whisper now.

I stare at her for a moment. “I just don’t understand why things never stay good for long enough. It’s always something. First, dad leaves. Then you never let me be a child. I always had to take care of you.” The words came out so fast it was too late. My voice was filled with anger and my face was red with spite. She bursts into tears.

“Oh, I am so sorry I have depression. I am sorry to be such a burden on you. What do you want from me Amy? You don’t know what it’s like to really grieve. To grieve your old self. You are a selfish child. You always make it about yourself. Me. Me. Me. You know what it’s like to grieve for over 20 years of your life? Come back to me then and apologize. I know you will.” Her arms interweave and her white hands clutch tightly to her red sweater. I know better than to feed into this. That’s what she wants, and I am not going to- “You are insane mom. You’re talking about grief, right now? Really? You’re telling me I am selfish after all those times I was there for you since I was a little child who didn’t know the difference between a catatonic episode and what looked you dying?”

Her eyes fill with fury as her fingers form into small lips, mocking me as she mouths along to what I say. The anger fills my entire being to the point that I am ready to burst. A warm hand touches my arm. She’s not worth it Ames.

“Ah, look at you Amy. Going off to college far, far away from your crazy mother whose obviously not an important role model in your life. It’s not like I am the one who birthed you, you’re welcome by the way, and raised you! So, I got sad, and you had to help me out sometimes. Boohoo. You should thank me. You got that brain from somewhere, and it sure wasn’t your father’s, I can tell you that. You should be grateful. I even come here to check on you after everything you put me through.” The hand squeezes my arms two times. I say nothing. Her jaw clenches as she runs up to me, her face inches away as she angrily says, “Goodbye, Ames.” Her mouth breaks into a small grin, then she walks behind me. The door slams moments later.

My legs break to the floor. Black curly hair forms across white skin and blushed cheeks, with hazel eyes so striking you never forget them even if you only saw them once. A smile so bright, it informs you that the person you are facing is a special as he seems. Nick grabs my hand and his forefinger squeezes my palm lightly. “Well, she’s always a treat.”

Through the ugly, hot tears, I manage to burst out into laughter. Nick had that impact. I nudge my hand against his shoulder and roll my eyes. “Can I please have my dramatic moment here? Even when you’re gone you won’t let me have it.” He smirks. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

The small mirror across from me at the entrance of my house was split into two. A permanent reminder of a fight my mom and I had just two years ago along the same conversation. My eyes were painted red. “I am selfish. How am I supposed to just continue my life now? It’s unfair that everything is the same. You’re gone, but everything looks the same. The neighbors across my street still come out every morning at exactly 9:30 to pick up the newspaper. All our friends gave their condolences and are just going on about their life as if it never happened. I just got my diploma in the mail a few days ago, and it reminds me of us. It reminds me of everything, before it all changed.” Silence.

“It wasn’t even your fault. You just die in your sleep?" I continue. "How is that fair? How could this happen to you of all people?” My head falls between my knees so he can’t see me, with the hairs on the top of my head clung to my wet face.

He lifts my head up and pushes a string of hair out of the way. “Don’t do this. Don’t go there. This is what life is about. I’m not saying it’s fair. I wish I could tell you the reason, but I can’t. I’m dead now. But you, you’re not. Live.” The last words push against my chest.

I remember it all suddenly. When life seems gray until you are lucky enough to meet someone who impacts it in a way that introduces colors you never knew of before. You learn about a lot of things through the people in your life. You learn a lot about yourself. I never knew what it felt to care for someone in a way I did for Nick. I learned that I saw my friends as my family. They say friends are the family you get to choose, after all. I was just grateful to have met him at the right time. Laughter was the key to so many memories, whether it be moments in class where the teacher crossly stared among the class and asked us not to laugh during inappropriate times.

When we would ditch school and go out for the day, taking on characters we made up, one story we would consistently use of two 30 years old who immigrated from Russia and never took the time to learn English. We would burst into laughter as we tried to order our fast-food burgers in our pathetic Russian accents, the poor cash register not being paid enough for such idiocy from two teenagers. Nick used to show up to my door with DVDs of our favorite movies that we always missed on the TV and kept me company when my mom was stuck in her room laid beneath the jail that was her bed. Annoyingly enough, my mom loved Nick’s charming self. He was always kind to her. “How’s it going Mrs. Carter?” “Oh Nicky,” my mom would rush her fingers through his messy hair and then start going off about some new healing process she was going through with crystals and tarot cards. “Please read my chart,” Nick would form his hands into a fist and bend down on one knee dramatically. “Come on, weirdo. Don’t entertain her,” I’d grab his shirt and pull him to my room.

Now I stare across the person before me, and it feels as though my body was so empty it was floating. “You’re not here," my face forms into a small smile. One of acceptance.

He smiles at me. “I’m not here.”

My arms fall around him, and my face buries into his chest. He rocks me back and forth. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”

He squeezes me tighter. “You know what would make me happy?” My face moves around his chest, me refusing to let go any longer, and my eyes rest on his now, light gray eyes. “If you packed that bag. Go live your life for the both of us.”

We don’t talk about how strange life really is. How could we really? I know if I talk about it for too long, I’d just fall into a downward spiral that would never end. There are some things we don’t have the answer to, maybe because we wouldn’t be able to handle the answer or maybe, because if we find out, we’d want to be taken away too before we are supposed to. I want to believe that life is about doing something that is assigned to us. Whether that be to fulfill some purpose, or learning a lesson granted upon us that we can’t remember by the time our soul wakes up in the body of a screaming child. I am not sure what mine is yet. I am not sure of anything. All I know is that Nick knew something most people don’t. I think the universe knew that too. I know Nick isn’t here now, but what I do know is that if he was, he would tell me that very thing. We can spend our time here focusing on all the countless things that could go wrong at a moment's notice. But there's no point in that. We need to realize that life is just as beautiful as it is tragic, and we must relish every moment we have before our time is up too. Make sure you do just that, make sure you live.