Bobby
Two weeks have passed since I slept completely through a night. I feel a stagnant breeze kiss my forehead and two drops of cold sweat descend the side of my right cheek as I sit up, woefully acknowledging that tonight will be no different. These are the few moments of solitude I have before reality settles in. Or rather, the dream. Some nights I’m not sure which it is. Something always tries to push my body to the right side of the bed and into Bobby’s embrace, but I feel nothing except the weight of his absence. He was always there, always protected me. Now, as I feel the cunning wind that makes me shiver and starts my real-life nightmare, I feel anything but protected. I hear a voice in the distance, and since I can’t make out the words yet, I pretend that they don’t say what I know they do.
I hear the clock ticking and with each passing second, I feel new perspiration beading the side of my right thigh. Drip. Drop. Or maybe it was already there. I’m not quite sure. The voice is growing too close for me to ignore its words. It’s Bobby and he’s screaming that he loves me. For a brief moment, my hope comes alive. But that hope is a panicked bird and there is a gaping red hole where one of its wings should be. It falters when it tries to fly and it crashes down on me. There is blood on my leg. Bobby is still screaming that he loves me—but that isn’t enough. I think for a moment that if I can grasp it strongly enough, his heart alone will be enough to protect me from this. But I know better. I can already see the tree outside my window beginning to waver in the breeze, and I know what’s coming. If only Bobby were really here.
My mind is racing and my craving for Bobby’s protection weighs on my right shoulder like a sack full of secrets. It feels like it’s piercing my skin and I think it’s drawing blood. But I can’t tell anymore. I hear the crash, its new familiarity like that of Bobby’s blank stare. It’s my window and it’s shattering; it is now in pieces, which drop and scatter across the floor like broken promises. The voice that was muffled by the layer of glass now grows louder as it probes my room. I try to cover my ears, but my hands are red and dry and only accentuate the sound. It swirls around my body and engulfs me. I begin to think I am losing my grip on reality as it stops and goes flat. Bobby’s words develop a cold tone of despondence and their sense of urgency dies right beside me. If only he were really here.
The voice continues to ring steadily in my right ear, and I notice that the tree has drawn closer. The branches reach out to me; their claws dig into my skin. There is blood on my arm. The wind is swirling and the voice refuses to change its maddening pitch and I think I might be in a cyclone. Bobby. I need Bobby. The branches smack me in the sternum and there is blood all over me. Bobby. I need Bobby now. My skin is soaked with regret and hatred for what I have become.
I begin to think the sounds drumming in my right ear have paralyzed me, and I see my body, which sits in good company, split down the middle between muscles that work and those that cry out for help. All at once, the wind stops blowing and the tree recedes. I see it lazily swaying in the breeze outside the window. I see the branches and I know their deceptive games. They will be back. The glass is no longer on the floor and is back in its solid formation, but a promise broken is a promise broken and I am still cracked. I look at the tree and at the twigs and the empty branchlings where leaves are no more. The tree is an evergreen, so I wonder where they have gone.
I lay my head back on my pillow and pull the covers over me. As I turn onto my right side, I almost feel as though the leaves, brown and lifeless, are not on the trees because they are in a heaping pile right beside me. I see Bobby’s eyes, glazed over as they always were, and I hear his voice once more. His mouth is still, just as it has been for the past two weeks, but he’s screaming that he loves me. But that isn’t enough. That was never enough.
I hear the clock ticking and with each passing second, I feel new perspiration beading the side of my right thigh. Drip. Drop. Or maybe it was already there. I’m not quite sure. The voice is growing too close for me to ignore its words. It’s Bobby and he’s screaming that he loves me. For a brief moment, my hope comes alive. But that hope is a panicked bird and there is a gaping red hole where one of its wings should be. It falters when it tries to fly and it crashes down on me. There is blood on my leg. Bobby is still screaming that he loves me—but that isn’t enough. I think for a moment that if I can grasp it strongly enough, his heart alone will be enough to protect me from this. But I know better. I can already see the tree outside my window beginning to waver in the breeze, and I know what’s coming. If only Bobby were really here.
My mind is racing and my craving for Bobby’s protection weighs on my right shoulder like a sack full of secrets. It feels like it’s piercing my skin and I think it’s drawing blood. But I can’t tell anymore. I hear the crash, its new familiarity like that of Bobby’s blank stare. It’s my window and it’s shattering; it is now in pieces, which drop and scatter across the floor like broken promises. The voice that was muffled by the layer of glass now grows louder as it probes my room. I try to cover my ears, but my hands are red and dry and only accentuate the sound. It swirls around my body and engulfs me. I begin to think I am losing my grip on reality as it stops and goes flat. Bobby’s words develop a cold tone of despondence and their sense of urgency dies right beside me. If only he were really here.
The voice continues to ring steadily in my right ear, and I notice that the tree has drawn closer. The branches reach out to me; their claws dig into my skin. There is blood on my arm. The wind is swirling and the voice refuses to change its maddening pitch and I think I might be in a cyclone. Bobby. I need Bobby. The branches smack me in the sternum and there is blood all over me. Bobby. I need Bobby now. My skin is soaked with regret and hatred for what I have become.
I begin to think the sounds drumming in my right ear have paralyzed me, and I see my body, which sits in good company, split down the middle between muscles that work and those that cry out for help. All at once, the wind stops blowing and the tree recedes. I see it lazily swaying in the breeze outside the window. I see the branches and I know their deceptive games. They will be back. The glass is no longer on the floor and is back in its solid formation, but a promise broken is a promise broken and I am still cracked. I look at the tree and at the twigs and the empty branchlings where leaves are no more. The tree is an evergreen, so I wonder where they have gone.
I lay my head back on my pillow and pull the covers over me. As I turn onto my right side, I almost feel as though the leaves, brown and lifeless, are not on the trees because they are in a heaping pile right beside me. I see Bobby’s eyes, glazed over as they always were, and I hear his voice once more. His mouth is still, just as it has been for the past two weeks, but he’s screaming that he loves me. But that isn’t enough. That was never enough.