Heart On My Sleeve

I'll never forget the day I got some of the worst news of my life; I remember everything from that morning, down to every detail of the Pokemon episode I was watching with my brothers. My mother got a call in the next room. The grief in her voice when I heard her say "What?" drew my attention from the battle on the screen. I looked over just in time to see her slide down until she was lying on the couch, hand over her mouth. I can't explain the terror I felt in my chest when she called my name. My legs didn't want to move; they trembled so hard I barely made it over to her. Looking down into her eyes, it was almost as though I already knew. My heart began to break before she could open her mouth to say to me, "Katie's dead." I broke instantly. It was the summer after second grade. I hardly had a concept of what death was. But when she said those words to me, I felt this great chasm open up within me and somehow I just knew, I was never going to see my best friend again.

I wasn't allowed to go to the wake. My mother said it would just make me sad to see her that way. I didn't want to go anyway. The body lying in that casket wasn't my friend. Katie was gone. I don't think my mom understood. I'm not sure I understand even now, 15 years later. I was allowed to go to the funeral, which I don't remember much of. The coffin was carried down the aisle, the tiniest thing you would ever see. The top was closed. No one would have to see what the car crash had done to her. I couldn't convince myself she was in there. I kept looking over to where her family sat, expecting to see her there, between her sister and her mom, where she always sat during mass. But that spot remained empty.

Her mom came to give me a hug after the ceremony. I asked her, "She's not really gone, is she? She's going to come back?" Her eyes filled with the first tears I had seen from her that day. Without answering, she pulled me to her again. Trust an 8-year-old to ask the worst, most innocent question to stab you in your already destroyed heart, right? When she finally drew back, she held me by my shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said to me. "But why?" She managed to smile, despite the tears now making their way down her cheeks. "I'm sorry that you're so young. In a few years, you'll start to forget her. Then she'll truly be gone."

I never forgot those words. A few days before the 10th anniversary of the crash, I texted her, asking if she still had anything that Katie had written her name on. She sent me some old worksheets from second grade, when we had first started to dabble with script. From those I chose the perfect one. I brought it with me to a tattoo parlor on July 3, 2015, exactly 10 years since we lost her. And I got her name tattooed on my wrist. Katie, my memories of you may have faded since we made them, but I still carry you as the heart upon my sleeve. You were my first best friend, my first crush, and now, you're my symbol of childhood innocence. I will never forget you.

Ghra go Deo, Max