For Renee

For two hours I studied the last picture we took together; meticulously examining every freckle, every follicle, anything that could make it make sense. The day we took the picture, I received my 12th rejection notice and didn’t feel like going to the beach. She, in only the way she could, convinced me that some sun and fresh air would cheer me up. It was one of the best days of my life.

Three weeks later, Cameron was gone. No symptoms, no diagnosis, no goodbyes. I was more inconsolable than I’ve ever been in my life. Then I was numb. The numbness was a warm blanket on the cold icy sting of her loss. I embraced it fully. So much so, my friends called in a welfare check to the police.

When the cops knocked on my door, I was preparing to eat something for the first time in too long. I had smoked a little bit of the weed she thought I didn’t know about. I never judged her for smoking, but she always thought I had a problem with it. Having never learned how to roll or pack a bowl, the coffee table was full of failed attempts. When I absentmindedly opened the door with a knife in hand, the officers drew their guns. The last thing I remember was an officer saying, “there are drugs on the table, she might have taken something.”

I opened my eyes, surprised to be surrounded by baby-faced residents. They continued to discuss me as if I was a living test dummy. “Patient brought in for a potential drug overdose. Patient suffered a contusion on the head as a result of syncope,” one student read from his notes. Nothing made sense. I didn’t have amnesia, but I couldn’t put together any of the pieces. The picture began to make sense the longer I was awake. By the time the doctor decided to acknowledge my presence, I was balling.

Everything came back to me, including the fact that I would never see Cameron again. After a few hours of wailing, my friend Nick burst through the doors in full costume and makeup. Seeing him dressed as Tinky Winky for Teletubbies the Musical gave me a much-needed break from crying. My laughter was so over the top, Nick had to talk the nurses out of getting me a psych evaluation. Between the knife, drugs, non-stop crying, and eruptious laughing, they were sure I was having a nervous breakdown. They were probably right. But Nick promised them he’d look after me, and bring me in if there was any sign of trouble. He meant it.

I spent eight weeks in Nick’s guest room, vacillating between ending my life and starting fresh somewhere new. Nearly being placed on a 5150 hold wasn’t quite the wake-up call you’d imagine; I still couldn’t get a hold on my grief. Then I got a call.

My phone had been off since before my staycation at the hospital. When I was finally ready to turn it on, my voicemail box was unsurprisingly full. I listened to one condolence message then turned it off. There was no way I was going to listen to dozens of those. The phone rang, I debated picking it up, then it stopped. I sighed in relief. Then it rang again. Something made me feel like I should answer.

“Hello. Is this Renee?”, the unfamiliar voice asked.

“Who’s asking?”, I questioned right back.

“This is Sandy Martinez. I’m Cameron’s sister.”

Taken aback, I was silent for more than was comfortable. Sister. Cameron rarely talked about family, and when she did it was short and not sweet.

“Umm. I guess she never mentioned me.” Sandy presumed, in a tone that sounded like she was reprimanding her dead sister.

“No, I can’t say that she did.”

“I’m not surprised, we weren’t on the greatest of terms.”

“How did you get my number?”

“Right. I was at the wake, but I couldn’t bring myself to come up to you. I didn’t know what to say.”

“But you do now?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you calling?”

“Because she asked me to.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“Wha..what? What do you mean she asked you to?”

“Last year, she reached out to me. We hadn’t spoken in years. She wanted to see about meeting to mend fences. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t respond well. But I agreed to meet her for coffee. I was amazed at how much she had changed, and how free she seemed. I must’ve spent the first half trying to find a flaw in her so I could feel superior. I couldn’t. The Cameron that was sitting in front of me wasn’t the Cameron I knew. We both knew it.”

“No offense, but can you get to the part where she tells you to call me.” I interrupted.

“I’m getting there. At some point she noticed I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Look, Sandy. I’m not here to rub my happiness in your face. I genuinely want to work on our relationship. I’d like for us to have a relationship period. When I left the house I needed to get away from them, not you. I never meant for things to end up like this. I should’ve tried harder to keep in touch.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was going through so much, and it felt like I needed to separate myself from everyone who knew me. A clean slate.”

“I wasn’t everyone, I’m your sister, I needed you.”

“I’m so sorry. I wanted to call you, but the more time went by, the more I felt that you wouldn’t want to hear from me.”

“You weren’t wrong. The more time went by, the more I felt you didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“Not you, just them.”

Sandy connected some of the dots for me, why Cameron never talked about her family. Seems like she was embarrassed by how she handled her relationship with her family. I wish she would have told me. Sandy went on about their meeting.

“We talked for hours. About our parents, high school, what we’d been up to, it wasn’t how I expected the conversation to go. I felt so at ease, like we had never been apart.”

“That was Cameron.”

“Not the Cameron I knew. Anyway, she started talking about you and her whole face lit up. She obviously loved you.”

I felt my eyes well up, but I didn’t want to start balling on the phone, so I did the best I could to hold back the tears.

“Go on.”

“She told me she had met the love of her life. The person she wanted to be with forever. That she wanted you to know everything about her; good and bad. Including our family. She wanted to make up with me not only for her, but for you. Before we left she told me she wanted to introduce you to me first, before she moved on to our parents. She asked me to call her so that we could all talk. She thought Facetime would be too much too soon. I never got a chance to make that call. I am so grateful to you for bringing my sister back to me. Had she never met you, I might have missed my opportunity to reconnect with my sister. I will never be able to repay you. ”

We were both crying at this point. Somehow it didn’t feel awkward, we were two strangers connected by a tragedy that would link us forever.

I felt like I restarted the stages of grief after that call. I was angry, angry that Cameron held so much back from me. And angry that she would never be able to fully confront and heal from whatever drama she had with her family. But I needed that call, to know that I could still have a tangible connection to her.

It took a few weeks, but I finally started to resemble myself again. I even started packing up some of her stuff to donate. In the middle of packing, I remembered the mail. Thank God for auto-debit—and amazing friends—or I would’ve ended up with a mountain of past-due bills. Quite the opposite. I opened a letter from Howard, Thompson & Associates; I vaguely remembered dodging their calls. The letter explained how I was the beneficiary of Cameron’s trust. Included was an initial check for $20,000. Sandy neglected to mention a trust. I was dating someone with a trust fund?

I couldn’t handle it, I was starting to feel like I didn’t really know Cameron. I put the letter and check back in the envelope and went back to packing. That’s when I found it. A box tucked way in the back of the top shelf of our closet; she knew I couldn’t reach up there. It was labeled “Sports”. A surefire way to keep me from being interested in whatever was in there. I expected to find a baseball glove, cleats, maybe old awards, or something. Instead, I found business cards, wedding magazines, home builder information packets, vacation ads; for the first time in my life I was flabbergasted.

Then I found a little black notebook. The first few pages were blank, maybe to throw me off. The next few pages were drawings of us, a house, a life that would stay on those pages. I flipped the tear-stained page, and saw her “Proposal”.

For Renee

I’ve never believed in soulmates, I still don’t. You’re not my soulmate or better half, you are my soul, the reason for everything I do. When you walked into my life, I nearly ruined it because I couldn’t understand why you would want to be with me. You aren’t perfect, but somehow your imperfections are perfect. No one gets me like you do, and I wouldn’t want anyone else to get me like you do.

There is so much I want to share with you, and I know you’ll fuss at me for keeping it to myself, but that’s why I love you. You always want the best for me, and will do whatever you can to be there for me. I hope to have the rest of our lives to share everything together, to know each other inside and out. I can’t imagine ever being without you, and I hope I never have to find out.

Will you marry me?

Yes.