Yanking the cell phone from his pocket, he frantically punched in 911 while simultaneously checking for a pulse; he found none. In his hurry, he almost slipped in a large puddle of water next to her mom. Even though he was frantically trying to get her mom the help she needed, he was also trying to figure out what might’ve happened, so he realized that she must have slipped in the puddle and cracked her head on the counter. Looking up at it now, he saw that there was indeed blood on the corner of the counter. The next few minutes were a blurred rush of talking to the operator and trying to take care of her mom. Finally, he felt her mom’s pulse again, but only very faintly. After an eternity, he heard the ambulance outside. He rushed to the door and threw it open, admitting the EMT personnel inside. Four hours later, they were sitting together outside her mom’s room, just sitting with each other. Her mom was going to be fine; the doctor was in with her now. He took her hand and gently rubbed it between his thumb and fore-finger. This seemed to calm her, so he continued doing it. Eventually, her muscles loosened and her shoulders dropped. She wasn’t tired, he knew, but rather just calm. He looked at her features, so serene now, and wondered what could possibly be going on in her head. He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it, letting his lips linger on her fingers. She smiled in spite of herself and pulled his hand closer to her face, laying it on her jaw bone. He stroked down the side of her face, his fingers finally settling on her upper lip, and she shuddered. Just then, the doctor came out with her mom in a wheel-chair. Her mom smiled weakly at the two of them and said, “Well it’s about time.”
The next morning they walked down the hallway together, his fingers and hers interlaced. They both had huge smiles on their faces because they were so happy with each other. Even when an administrator stopped them and commanded them to stop holding hands, they still smiled content as they were with the other. People stopped and stared as they went down the hall because everyone knew that they were “siblings.” In band, she laid on him in a manner that was not at all sisterly, and then people really started staring. They both thought it was somewhat comical, but then again they did have a somewhat messed up sense of humor. The night before, as they were driving home, they had officially asked her mom’s permission to go out, and she had told them yes! They were so excited by this that neither of them could sleep that night, so they ended up talking on the phone until well into the morning. After band, they didn’t have any other classes together that day, and so, with sad smiles, they left each other and went their separate ways promising to call later. Once at home, he got out his favorite notebook and began trying to sketch her, doing his best to catch the sharp curve of her jaw, and the smooth, rounded texture of her cheeks. After this attempt proved to be futile, he decided to write a poem about his feelings for her; something that he had always been good at. He picked up the phone and called her, and when she answered he knew at once something was wrong. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he demanded. “I can’t take it anymore,” she told him, “I want to break up.”
He felt his world cascading around him like a waterfall. Everything he cherished and everything he had ever wanted was in this beautiful girl, and she was leaving him. He wondered how this could possibly be happening as he felt his body go into lock-down. The tears began to pool slowly pool in the corners of his eyes, and his body shook. “Wh…what?” he asked. When she didn’t respond, he knew she wasn’t pretending. “Why?” he asked. After a brief interval, he heard her release a shaky breath before responding, “It just feels wrong. After thinking of you as my brother for so long, I just can’t see you as a lover.” The pain inside him swelled, and he almost cried out in agony. “I’m sorry,” she told him. He had fought against himself for several minutes; fought against the natural reaction that could only be described as self-preservation. “Whatever,” he said in a voice as cold and hard as metal. At this moment, he did not feel the pain or fear of her rejection, only his own anger. Even as his next words escaped from his lips, he knew he would hate himself for this later, but for now that didn’t matter. “Don’t call me again,” he said. Then he hung up and flung the phone to the floor as he collapsed onto his bed. He cried and cried, feeling as if he had never cried before. He cried for her, but mostly he cried at his own stupidity for being so harsh on her. Slowly, he rose from his bed and went over to his desk drawer. He bent, removed the scissor from the organizer, spread the blades apart, and placed one on his wrist....
“Could I possibly have done that?” he asked himself. He wasn’t entirely sure the answer was no. He was walking outside in his neighborhood, and it was 9:30 at night. The temperature was 23 degrees Fahrenheit, and yet he didn’t feel the chill despite the fact that he was wearing shorts and a short-sleeve t-shirt. His breath escaped from his parted lips in a billowing cloud as he thought about the last few hours. After having very seriously considering slicing the blade through his flesh, he had finally decided against it. The scissors had fallen to the floor with a crash, and he had followed milliseconds later. He had lain, shaking, on the floor as he thought about all that had transpired that night. He had felt as if his world were ending, for she was more to him than a lover; she was his life-line. Now that they had broken up, he wasn’t sure that they could still be friends, and he couldn’t live without her. A car flying by yanked him out of his pondering. He sighed, and decided to buy her some flowers and try to apologize for being so rude. He hadn’t ever meant to be mean, he had just been really upset and had felt the need to protect himself. He loved her so much that it pained him physically to know that he was the cause of her distress. Suddenly, there was the sound of tires screeching, followed by a huge crash. He ran towards the sound, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he dashed around the corner, he thought he recognized the small, red Camry that lay smashed into a house. In a daze, he ran to the car and ripped the door open. To his absolute horror, she fell out. Blood was gushing from her body, and a shard of metal punctured her abdomen.
He didn’t even have a clue what to do; the world should’ve been frozen with shock and terror, but the cars moving by him now seemed impossibly fast. With numb fingers, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. After giving information to the lady on the other end, he didn’t even bother hanging up but merely dropped the phone. Frantically, he searched the car, hoping against hope that there was a bandage somewhere. A flash of white, a glint of hope. What he had thought to be the wrapping on a Band-Aid actually turned out to be a neatly folded scrap of paper. He opened it with the intent on using it as a makeshift bandage, but froze when he read the words inside. His name was at the top along with today’s date. Below that, written in her neat, slanted hand, were the words, “I’m sorry that I was so stupid. I love you. I’m yours always.” He must’ve looked demented as he started smiling broadly alongside the face of such tragedy. Just then, the ambulance arrived. “Move kid!” the techs screamed. They hastily put her on a stretcher and loaded her in the back. “I’m coming too!” he shouted as he jumped in. He thought they were going to argue, but they only said, “Buckle up.” Once inside, he heard her moan softly. He bounced to her side hurriedly and, just as he got there, her eyes opened slowly. She saw him, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I love you so much.” He smiled sadly before saying, “I love you too. Now and forever.” She smiled weakly, and then her eyes drifted closed. The heart machine started wailing; a sad testament to her passing.