One year later…
I always dreamt of us when I slept. Fortunately, my subconscious tended to lean toward fond memories and for that I was grateful. I punished myself enough when I was awake that I took the reprieve when it was offered.
“What is that supposed to be?” Ryan asked pointing at his screen.
“Boobs,” I snorted. “See, I used two parentheses with a period in the middle and now you’ve got boobs.”
“Speaking of boobs,” Ryan said subtly. “You’ve got a nip slip.”
“What?” Looking down I saw that I did, in fact, have a nip peeking out. “Shit.”
Tucking myself in, I watched him roll his eyes muttering, “Your tits need a personal assistant.”
Since the tits in question hated being bolstered, I couldn’t argue. When my phone pinged, I checked the message and laughed so hard I fell over. Because Ryan was as competitive as I was.
“Really?”
“What?” he asked innocently. “You sent me A cups, those are DDs.”
I’ve been sending texts to this number since the feature became available on cell phones. Ryan and I had saved our money for months so we could buy them at the same time. We even had matching numbers where his ended with a two and mine with a one. See, being apart wasn’t our thing. We liked being attached at the hip. Which included calling, text messaging, and sending videos if we weren't together. Who am I kidding? We messaged each other even if we sat side by side on a couch.
My person since first grade, we lived the life together.
Without him, I was forced to go on alone and still wasn’t sure how to manage it or if I even was. Most days I was numb and felt next to nothing unless I was plummeting toward earth risking potential death for a rush.
Aside from him, I had no one I wanted to share life with, no one to play with. Replacing him wasn’t an option. Because Ryan was irreplaceable.
So, keeping up with tradition helped me grieve in the only way available to me. These messages kept him alive even if it was just in my phone’s memory and my guilty-broken-heart.
In my texts to him, I never discuss the past. Though, I do tell him how much I miss and love him, I prefer to keep him up-to-date on work, my next adventure and most recently, the idea of dating.
I hadn't been laid in ages and I was too young and flexible to be celibate.
Ryan was the one who knew all my secrets and loved me unconditionally.
He’d taken the very best part of me with him when he died too.
I was lucky though. I’ve led a charmed life filled with crazy adventures and happy memories most people never get to experience. Sometimes that reminder hurts just as much as missing him.
Since losing Ryan, I was introduced to the depths of sadness, struggling to breathe on my own because half of myself was missing. I still couldn’t speak his name out loud without crying and it didn’t take long for those around me to stop saying his name too. For them, Ryan died and life moved on.
Even now, I haven’t found my voice. Grief, it seems, was forever holding it captive.
Anniversaries, holidays, milestones. Since losing him, I lost interest in any type of tradition except these messages. So, when my phone buzzed to alert me I had a reply, all I could do was blink.
Because there shouldn’t be a reply.
Never walking away from a challenge, I swiped it open, blinked some more trying to make sense of it.
—We should meet—
Twice in my life I have found myself speechless.
The day sitting in an ambulance on the side of the highway hearing Ryan died and right now, one year later, staring at the message on my phone.
The screen shows Ryan’s name and his picture but, the words didn’t belong to him.
They belonged to the new owner.
Whoever it was probably felt really sorry for me. The girl who sends selfies and endless messages about love and loss. Whoever this is probably wants to let me down easy. My messages are probably driving this person crazy. I knew one day his number would be recycled. I even begged his dad to let me pay the bill to avoid it. No such luck there. Like everyone else, he told me letting him go was best. Only, I wasn’t ready. Might never be ready and I refused to put an expiration date on his memory.
However, the new owner of Ryan’s number unintentionally took that last piece of him away from me.
But the reality was, my last tie to him was officially gone.
And I wasn’t sure how I was going to cope with that loss.
So, with wet eyes I just stare at the message.
—We should meet—
While I should be freaking out wondering who wants to meet me and why, I ignored any chance of foul play and focused on the thrill of the unknown firing back,
—Okay—
I did shit like this. Leapt before I looked.
Sure, I could blame it on curiosity but I liked calling a spade a spade.
Because loneliness had a face.
I saw it in the mirror every day.
And so, our messages went like this:
Ryan: Tomorrow
Me: Tomorrow is fine, depending on where you are coming from?
Ryan: Already here
Me: Where’s here?
Ryan: Detroit
While this should have made me scream, it didn’t so, I forged on.
Me: Lobby bar at the Atheneum
Ryan: 8pm
Me: How will I find you?
Ryan: I’ll find u, I’ll always find u
And he hasn’t responded since. How do I know he’s male? I don’t, I’m just assuming. Us females are way better at texting. We use emojis, memes and rarely abbreviate. Plus, any female worth her salt would ask me what I was wearing and what I liked to drink.
Therefore, I deduced that I was meeting a ‘him’ tomorrow.
Was I crazy?
Clearly, yes.
But anyone who knew me would tell you, this isn’t news.
For just those few moments, seeing words with Ryan’s name next to them even knowing they weren’t his…
I could breathe again.
So, whoever this person was, for whatever reason they wanted to meet, I was glad I’d at least have the chance to say thank you in person. And once that was done, I would have to find another way to keep Ryan’s memory alive.
And that terrified me.