anyone.
i remember wondering why they call them terminals when we're supposed to have a sense of security about all of this.
at that very moment, boy was in surgery. at that very moment, my mind was expanding and contracting. all i could do was sit and wait for the little blonde number to call my row so i could get a few yards closer to being there. flipping my phone over and over in my hands, watching the digital expertise shift from one minute to the next. my knee was shaking, and a guy was trying to talk to me.
it was closing in.
i remember boarding, shifting and crying on the plane, walking off the jetway, running to a cab, and getting out into the worst.
the rest are just images without music or rhythm. his father taking me aside, his mother's eyes, my palms sweating, the faint washing over me when i saw him like that for the first time, the afternoon that the truth finally pointed its gun my way, and that moment when the world swayed around us with a dizzying affair.
nothing's been clear since that. what i remember doesn't add up. the doctors looked at me like just a kid. i wanted to scream and pound and insist, but they didn't know me. not sure where i fit into this, not being family, not being anyone, i just sat in the waiting room, drank my water, and held his shirt close ... because him being my bean didn't mean anything to anyone but me, and all i could do was sit and try to listen for that voice that usually gets me through.
i would have crawled into that hospital bed if i could have, giving him all the breath i had. i would have said, "hey, he's my bean, and that's enough to give him my life." i would have curled up beside him to rub his back lightly, because he always said i made his headaches go away.
he used to say that i saved his life. a few times, he actually introduced me to people as "lindsay, the girl who saved my life." i always started laughing and shaking my head and calling him ridiculous. i was just there, and i only listened. i could have been anyone, but he always said that i wasn't anyone, i was lindsay and that's all that it took.
we promised to take care of each other, and a promise never got too big for my hands so quickly as it did that day. that day that i can't remember clearly, that day that's left us torn apart ... worlds away.
i remember going back to our apartment and sleeping in his bed with his poems against my chest and our comforter wrapped tightly. i remember the smell of his car and the way my paintings looked so lonely. i remember those days with fear and reservation through smoke and a loud silent noise.
i can't remember that day as a day but only moments that my hands kept shaking.
