Cuba
He’s gone.
Jackson is dead, and I’ll never see him again. We’ll never play another game together. We’ll never be in the same space ever again.
It’s been sixty days, twelve hours, twenty-eight minutes, and three seconds since he left. Leaving me behind to drown in the memories.
My hand clenches the neck of my Hennessey bottle tighter as I pop a few little white pills into my mouth and chase it back with the brown liquor. I need to feel the numbness, I need my brain to be quiet and stop the reruns of my memories. Eyeing the pills scattered on my coffee table, I focus on them as if they are screaming my name, begging me to let them join the party. Part of my brain is trying to shut down this idea, but other side wants the thoughts to stop.
With no further thought, I sweep up the rest of the pills and swallow them back in one gulp. I don’t even feel the burn from the liquor anymore. I don’t want to feel it, I don’t want to feel anything. I just want to stay numb and my eyes flutter closed.
It’s the sound of beeping that wakes me, and I start to search for my phone, not wanting to open my eyes. But all I feel are cold crisp sheets. I don’t remember having sheets on the couch, but then again, I don’t remember anything anymore.
The beeping goes off again and there are soft whispers near me. What the fuck? I try to force my eyes open, but they are so heavy. Who is in my house?
Finally, my eyes open, and I have to blink my vision into focus. I’m not at home, I’m in the hospital. Swallowing the knot in my throat, I look to my left. My mom is sitting in the chair, her hand reaching to grab mine. She usually never has a hair out of place, but her creamy, milk chocolate skin is make-up free, and her long hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. Guilt hits me the moment my eyes lock onto her dark brown teary ones. She looks as if she has been crying for hours, and I know I’m the reason for her tears.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Baby boy,” she chokes. “Oh, thank you Jesus.”
Then I see my dad step up behind her, his hand on her quivering shoulder. His hazel eyes are red, but they are also angry. There is no doubt that he is upset. I don’t need to know why I am here, the disappointment on his face tells me. I almost died.
My mom tells me through her sobs what happened. My parents came to check on me as they usually do. They found me on the couch, my liquor bottle on the floor, empty, and the unmarked pill bottle tipped over. The moment they went to reach for me is the moment I stopped breathing. She chokes, telling me that the paramedics had to give me CPR to restart my breathing. That explains my sore chest. Everything was a blur when they wheeled me into the ER. Apparently, my stomach has been pumped because of my overdose.
It’s not until my mom walks out of the room to make a call that my dad takes her place in the seat. He runs a hand through his dark, short curls and the olive skin around his eyes crinkles to narrow his gaze at me.
I brace myself for his words, because I know they won’t be nice.
“Dammit Cuba.” He sighs. “You nearly gave your mom and I a fucking heart attack,” he says quietly.
I don’t say anything, just shift my eyes away from his to my hands.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I can hear the disappointment in his voice.
“I wasn’t,” I choke out. My voice is raspy, and my throat is killing me.
“Clearly. Shit. Fuck. Damn,” he rambles. My dad has always cursed, but he’s never said three at one time. “This can’t happen again, Cuba. I will not lose my son. I will not lose you.” His voice strains with conviction and emotion.
I nod because I can’t bear to speak again. I don’t trust myself.
He snaps his fingers. “Look at me.” And I do. I see the tears escape from his sad eyes and I can’t take it. I let my own fall too, I don’t fight them or wipe them away.
The bed dips and I blink through my tears as I see my dad pull me into his chest, rocking me like I’m a baby again. His chest shakes over me, we’re both crying. I almost died, he almost lost his son. I did this to them when all they have tried to do was be there for me. All I did was push them away.
He rubs my back, shushing me to calm down. “We’ll get you help but only if you want it. You can either go to rehab or you are on your own, I can’t let you ruin your mom. I just can’t.”
I don’t even think about my choices, I quickly nod against his chest. Jackson would be disappointed if he saw me like this. Weak.
“I’ll go,” I struggle to say.
I had no choice. I had to go because I couldn’t put my parents through this again. I don’t want to be waken up in the hospital after an overdose to be reoccurring, because what if one day I don’t wake up? I won’t be seeing Jackson behind a pearly white gate.
Fuck.
I shoot up in bed, clenching my chest to find the pain isn’t there. Breathing deeply, I look over to see Bliss asleep next to me. Grabbing the water bottle on the nightstand, I gulp it quickly to try and calm my body down.
Lying back, I pull Bliss into my chest and hold her. She always soothes me, just her being here. Breathing in her lavender scent, I slowly drift back to sleep.
Oliver sits across from me tapping his pen against his chin before setting it down on the pad that’s on his lap.
“So, this is the second dream in three weeks?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. The first one about when he was diagnosed, and the second was the overdose.” I never told Oliver about the first dream, and I could tell it annoyed him a little.
He nods and writes on his pad. “We’ll circle back around to that,” he tells me. “How is your relationship with Bliss going?”
“Great.” And that’s the truth, she is absolutely perfect. Other than the little argument we had a few weeks ago over Ryan, the asshole, it has been great. “We’re going to her mom’s for dinner this weekend.” And I’m nervous again. Her dad, Keith, is cool, but I don’t know her mom yet.
“That’s great.” He smiles. “Has she met your parents yet? You seem to be getting serious.”
My stomach drops at the mention of my parents. I haven’t seen them in months. We talk a lot, and they are happy I’m back on the team, but I have been quiet about Bliss. Does that make me a shitty boyfriend?
Rubbing the back of my neck, I wince. “I haven’t told them about her yet, actually.”
His eye widen in surprise. “Care to explain?” he asks. “You’ve been with her for about awhile.”
He doesn’t need to remind me how long we’ve been together. “Just hasn’t come up.” But it will. I already met her dad and now I’m meeting her mom. Yet, I haven’t mentioned her meeting my parents.
“I see.” He writes on the pad and I get annoyed. “How is the basketball going, you have your first game coming up, right?”
“Yeah, we have an away game to kick the season off.” It sucks because Bliss won’t be able to make it, but she said she’ll be there for the next game that’s at home, and I’m excited for that.
Oliver looks at his pad for a moment, then looks up at me. “So, about these dreams,” he starts. ”Have you visit Jackson’s grave yet?”
I shake my head, I haven’t. I still haven’t been able to get myself there. I have the directions put away in the glove compartment of my car, just haven’t used them yet.
“Maybe these dreams are a sign that you need to face him.” He gives a small shrug. “The time is here.”
That’s what I was thinking when I woke up again this morning. Maybe it is time that I finally face him and say my peace, so I can go. I think about this the rest of our session. Flopping back and forth between going and not going. Oliver keeps circling back to Bliss meeting my parents and my mind can’t handle it all.
After I make my next appointment, I head out, texting my girlfriend to let her know I’ll pick her up at the library after practice. She texts me back quickly, asking if I’m okay. I lie and tell her I’m fine when I’m not, but I don’t want to worry her. I know she knows I had another dream, but she hasn’t brought it up and I’m glad.
It doesn’t take me long to navigate through the cemetery and park along the curb. I never thought I’d be here, outside his grave. He was too fucking young to be in a damn grave but here we are. I could have easily been right next to him last year.
Pushing my door open, I step out, shutting it behind me. My feet feel heavy, and it’s hard to move them forward but I have to. I need to do this. Oliver is right, it’s time. I have to face Jackson.
It takes me a few minutes to find his headstone, and I’m embarrassed. I should have been there at his funeral, but I was too busy killing myself instead of living for him. I don’t think twice before sitting on the ground in front of him, there’s more dirt then grass, but fuck it. Pulling my knees to my chest, I rock back.
I don’t know where to start but I take a deep breath. “Sorry it took me so long, J. I should have been here a long time ago.”
I don’t know why I expect to hear his goofy ass voice, but I wait, listening to the wind whip through the trees.
“I miss you man,” I start again. “The team misses you too. We talk about you a lot at practice. And Bliss would have loved you,” I say thoughtfully. “Hell, you would have loved her too. I told her about you, and it wasn’t easy.”
“Do you think our moms would freak out if I bring a girl home?” I laugh at the thought of their reaction. “Hell, if I bring a girl I’m falling in love with home?”
Shit. Do I love her? Fuck yeah, I do. I could deny it until I’m blue in the face, but Arrow is my fucking heart. Maybe that’s why I haven’t told my parents about her. I have never brought any girl home, now I’m supposed to walk in with my girlfriend that I’m crazy about, who, by the way, they have no idea about. They would probably die of shock.
I laugh again. “Yeah, I can definitely see it going down.” My laugh dies. “I don’t deserve her though, she deserves the best. I just hope I can give her that.”
I talk to Jackson a long time. I talk about everything I can think of, mostly about our times together. We had some good times since we were two-years-old. How girls at school would dub us Milk and Chocolate, and at times Chocolate Milk… they all wanted a taste. But Jackson wasn’t a man whore like me. He actually liked to be with one girl, even if they weren’t official.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. Shit, it’s my alarm for practice. I have twenty minutes to get to the gym, with maybe five minutes to spare. Pushing up on my feet, I tap his headstone.
“I’ll see you later, man.” It takes me a moment to pull my hand away. It’s like losing him all over again, but I’m glad I came. I’m glad I finally faced him and said I was sorry.
This was better than writing him letters even though they help. But sitting here is like he’s with me and I can feel him. I miss him, but I have to live for him now. I have to do what he will never be able. There’s our dream to accomplish, there’s the girl I love, there’s a future for me. I have to make him proud, and I hope like hell not to let him down.
Walking away from his grave lifted a weight from my shoulders, it’s been there for so long I forgot how heavy it was. It just feels good to be able to fully breathe again.