by Jordyn Young
A Very Short Story of Heartbreak
| I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye this time, every other time it has been easy. You say the words and let out a few tears, you smile at them and tell them that of course you will keep in touch. You laugh, get into the car, into the bus. Maybe you just simply walk away, the point is that you leave, you escape. You have to have the last word and run, not looking back not letting yourself be dragged back to standing still when all your heart desires is the ability to fly.
You can stand there, face against the world set firm and I guarantee there is something I could say that would completely knock you down. That would feel like a punch in the gut and leave you bruised. For me, that’s what he said. It wasn’t a long sentence or anything mean or spiteful. He didn’t say anything that would stop me from living, or at least on the first glance it wouldn’t. it was only hours later I fully comprehended what he had said as the words echoed around my head in the voice that he had only ever spoken to me in. A voice I love, used to love.
The words were now scratched into my wall, dripping from the plaster like some kind of horror film. The sentence I was obsessed with, a broken cry from lips that were no longer mine. Hoping for a response from lips that were no longer his. I hadn’t given him one, I had wanted to. I wanted so desperately to say it back, to give in just this once. But like every other goodbye I had walked away. Leaving his beautiful face behind. His black glasses nestled perfectly over a freckled face in front of bright green eyes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a fairy tale.
The ride home hadn’t been easy, the tears flowed freely from my face like they had never done and my mascara ran down my cheeks. Three words that I couldn’t get out of my mind now written on my cheeks in black, the nine letters like a tattoo on my face.
I had transferred the ink to my pillow hours ago and the warm water from the shower removed the visible signs of pain. My phone lit up, a spam email from some company looking to grow my hair back for only twenty-two ninety-nine. I opened Facebook and saw that his Facebook had been scattered with messages.
The problem with walking out a door is that you can’t see it lock behind you. I looked up at the nine letters etched into the wall, the three words that I cannot remove from my skin. His smile was written into his words, a promise that he would never keep.
My goodbye to him was his goodbye to everyone. They never caught the person that hit him with that car. The person didn’t even slow down to see the last moments of my best friend. So that’s how I look back on our last goodbye. It was raining that day, as I kissed him on the lips and tears sprang to my eyes as I hugged him because somehow when I look back on that moment my memory has edited in the knowledge, souring the last good memory I have of him.
I was supposed to go on holiday the next day, the plane tickets were left on the side of the kitchen as I raced to the hospital. I look back at that last memory of us and his last words to me as we parted for what neither of us knew was the last time. His last words a lie.
Jacob, I’ll miss you.