I looked at the calendar today and realized, holy shit, its your birthday. I raced to my phone to call you and say, “Hello my dear skylark, happy birthday!” Aaand… well, isn’t this odd… Your number is gone! Where did it go? Shit, I didn’t get drunk and guilty and erase it did I? Oh god, what if it was another friend? Shit… What if it was that bitch who went through my phone! And then I think… what if it was you? Then my mind starts racing… then I start to feel ill. What if it was you? I start looking around the room. I look at my mirror on my desk and I see the horrid expression on my face, and instantly revert to normal. I think about what opportunity you had to erase it. Then I think, nah, couldn’t have been her… and then that opportunity arises in my mind. You used my phone all the time, of course you had access… So perhaps you did! What if it was a friend though? Lots of people use my phone, so maybe it was a friend, yeah…a friend… and then I return to the problem. Its your birthday, and I still don’t have your number. I log on to Facebook, you being the perfect girl you are don’t have an account… myspace maybe? no…what about the team roster? maybe i can meet you at a performance…no DAMNIT!!! Theres no way to reach you. No way to see your smiling face again, and even though it hurt every time I saw you… what about your friends? I can call them. Of course, none of them like me because of what I did to your other friend, who just so happened to have the greatest influence among freshmen girls… damnit… And that leads me back to the problem, I can’t call you or your friends because i don’t have your number. Then i get a call. Is it you!? No… of course not. “No Tom, I can’t get on Xbox right now. Goodbye.” Now back to the problem… And the reason for that problem? Someone took it out of my phone. Who? Subconsciously I scream “SHE DID YOU ASSHOLE!” No, shut up. It… damn it… She did. She did it. She must have. I gave her my number… I took her home, I listened to everything she said to me. I fought tooth and nail; nearly got expelled, for her. I bled and I screamed for her, and I lost for her too. When I was needed, I was that shoulder to cry on. I was that guy she could tell anything. And yet I still don’t have your number. Now I’m feeling weird. I look at the mirror. My hairstyle has changed. Its really spikey. I look at the keyboard. There’s hair all over it. I’ve been pulling the hair from my head. That would explain the headache. Nothing cures a headache like a nice alcoholic beverage, but thats why I needed you in the first place, not because its your birthday, but because I need help. Because now I need a shoulder to cry on. I was under the impression that friendship is mutual. But whatever, I’ll just bust out that… no no bottle of jack this early in the morning, you’re not kesha… but back to the problem… I still don’t have your number. I suppose a glass of milk will do. I run upstairs, my heart aching, my head spinning with confusion. I pour that glass, chug the milk and pour another one. Feeling a bit better… kind of queasy, but calmer. I can type slower now… much better until I see you.
You’re on the front page. So is your corpse. Suddenly, I freeze. Not just my body, but everything inside my body. My heart, my lungs, my brain, my blood, everything just stops. I drop the glass, because my hands are frozen and yet convulsing at the same time. I recognize your school photo. You were prettier at the end of the year when I last saw you. Then I look over and see the car, mangled with flames bursting out of it, an oil tanker wrapped around it like a snake. How that happened I don’t think i’ll ever know. You and your brother, both gone. While my mind comprehends this, my body reacts. I break down in front of the table. I grasp the paper tightly against my chest and sob like the baby I really am inside, and the baby that will never grow up because his surrogate mother/soul mate will never be there to raise him nor will he be there to raise her. And rage pounds in my chest, and sorrow and pity all choke that rage out with good reason, with some strange reason that hits me as odd and makes me ask myself, “Why is my brain reasoning over the death of the only woman I thought I could love?!” I should be tearing shit apart, killing small animals, banging pots and pans against each other, stabbing myself with the knives that are so conveniently placed JUST within reach of my flailing sobbing shell of a body. No songs play in my head like they do in the movies. Nothing happens. My mother walks in and tells me it’s alright, that she’s in a better place now. Thats great, but where does that leave me!? What does this mean now? Am I really this broken up about a girl that didn’t care about me? Why? Is it the only sign of affection that I ever had? Maybe its because I’m so young and naive that I don’t know what true love is like? But that doesn’t stop the pain. Once bitten twice shy, right? There’s a first time for everything right? Maybe if I had the chance to call you, maybe if you hadn’t deleted my number…
Then it hits me again
I still don’t have your number. And I never will now.