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No answer. I don’t need to hear one, though. I know now what I have to do.
All these years, there’s been a fog shrouding my head, a wall surrounding my heart, a shadow hanging over me. I’ve kept telling myself Trisha’s death caused them and that they’ll never disappear, but the truth is that I’m the one who made them. I can cast them aside. I’ve just been afraid. I’ve been afraid to let go of the pain, of the past, because if I did, then what would I have left? I didn’t want to let Trisha go because I had no one.
Now, I realize how selfish I’ve been. And how foolish. I can’t keep hanging on to Trisha. I can’t keep using her as an excuse not to live my life. If anything, I should live my life for her, not die with her. I survived, so I should live enough for the both of us. It’s what she’d do if she was the one who got left behind. It’s what she’d want me to do.
“All this time, I haven’t been listening to you, have I? What a best friend I am.”
I thought I was, but in truth, I’ve only been listening to the voice of pain, of fear. How can that be Trisha? She’s not in pain anymore. She has nothing to fear. She’s never been afraid.
Well, that stops now.
I clasp both hands over my heart, close my eyes and draw a deep breath.
“You can go now, Trish. You don’t have to keep watching over me. I’ll be fine. I won’t waste my life anymore. I won’t dwell in the past anymore. I’ll live my own life. I’ll live enough for us both. I’ll never forget you. Your words will always stay in my heart and you will always be my best friend. But I’m… letting you go.” I pause as my voice cracks. “You’ve taught me… enough about life. The memories of our friendship will give me strength to move on. So you can leave me behind now. I’ll be fine. Someday, maybe, you and I will see each other again and we can pick up where we left off. I’ll tell you so many things and I’ll listen to everything you have to say. But until then, it’s okay for us to part. You can go.”
I wipe my tears and slowly open my eyes. I can almost see Trisha standing there, just a few feet away, in her favorite outfit – a hanging pink blouse over a tight-fitting grey long-sleeved shirt and faded jeans held by a sparkly white belt. Her hair flows past her shoulders and silver hoops hang from her ears.
“Goodbye, Trish,” I tell her as I place my hand over the charm bracelet on my wrist, the bracelet she gave me for my eleventh birthday to match hers.
The charms of her own bracelet jingle as she lifts her hand. The dimples on her cheek show as she gives me the sweetest smile.
Goodbye, Cathy.
I close my eyes again as I feel another breeze blow, this a bit warmer than the last. When I open them again, she’s gone.
Trisha’s gone.
This time, though, I no longer feel empty or lonely. I don’t feel pain or fear. Only peace.
I’ve made my peace.
My lips curve into a smile. “Thank you, Trish.”
I get off the ground and blow my nose as I walk to the car where Jackson and Maisie are waiting. I slip into the passenger seat.
“Well?” Jackson asks me. “Were you able to say goodbye?”
I nod. “I feel better now.”
“You look better.”
“Did she say goodbye?” Maisie asks from the backseat.
I turn my head and give her a smile. “Actually, she did.”
Jackson smiles. “I knew she’d talk to you.”
“And she told me I could give you this.” I take off my charm bracelet and lean over the backseat to hand it to Maisie. “Because you’re my new best friend.”
“Wow.” Her face lights up as she takes a closer look at the charms.
She tries to put the bracelet on, but it’s too big.
“Maybe someday you can wear it,” I tell her. “Someday when you’re old enough to wear lipstick. For now, keep it.”
Maisie nods. “Okay.”
Jackson turns his head to look at her. “What do you say when someone gives you something, Maisie?”
“Thank you,” she says.
I reach out to touch her cheek. “You’re welcome.”
Jackson puts on his seatbelt. “Shall we go home? I was thinking we’d celebrate.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Celebrate?”
“Yeah. Celebrate Trisha. I mean, we’ve mourned for her for so long, you especially. Don’t you think we should celebrate her instead?”
I nod. “I think she’d like that.”
“I can cook her favorite dish,” Jackson says. “The problem is, I don’t know which one it is.”
I put on my seatbelt and give him a smile. “I do.”
~
“Those garlic butter Parmesan chicken wings were amazing,” I remark to Jackson as we take a stroll in the garden after dinner, me with a cup of hot chocolate and him with a bottle of beer.
