It was a miracle I found you. Almost from the moment your hand took mine, I knew. At first you scared me more than the rest of everyone all put together, and then you became what kept me strong. In an ocean of objectionable strangers we came together, buffered each other, made it safe. I don’t think either of us could believe our luck, not really. There’s an awful lot of looking going on out there, but not much finding as far as I can tell. And so we connected, and then solidified our connection and began to build a life together. A home, a world of friends, a soothing pattern of activities all bathed in the warm glow of the familiar.

We love a world of observed drama, you and I. Storms from which we are protected. We love to watch our friends go about their whirlwind lives and listen to their stories and be glad we aren’t them. We love to stay inside near the windows when it snows, cozied into blankets with movies we’ve seen a million times playing in the background while we talk about many consequential nothings. We love to take walks in the rain, our boots waterproofed, our jackets lined with flannel, our inner world cozy and safe while the outer world does what it will.

That’s why we took this walk today. The storm coming in looked to be magnificent, and storms along the coast are more beautiful than most. You watch them roll in from so far away, and suddenly you’re in the middle of it, dune grass blown horizontal, green and blue and black waves crashing with white foam. I like to think of the marine animals all hunkered down deep under the water, waiting for the calm to come again, and wonder if it’s peaceful down there where they are. I like to stand in the cold with your warm hand holding mine and let it be my only connection to anything. That feeling, my own calm center in the midst of cacophony, is the thing I love best. Maybe the only thing worth loving.

And now my hand is empty and I find myself alone above the raging sea. Even in this green-hued darkness I can see your body laying on the rocks below me—contorted at an angle that does not support life. I know you are gone. My brain knows this thing. My unconscious mind, ever working, is making a list of the things I need to do. Call emergency services, report the accident, learn how your body will be recovered. I need to call your family and mine. I need to arrange a funeral, where will that be? We’re too young to have ever considered these things. My brain works over these mundane tasks as my eyes stare down at the blur of color that used to be you. Any moment you will stand up, this will not have happened. There’s an undo here somewhere. There’s a version of this story in which you do not lose your footing. Do not stupidly lose your footing on the edge of a seaside cliff and fall to your death. That’s a movie. That’s a movie I wouldn’t watch. That’s a book I wouldn’t read. That’s not my life. That’s not our life. You need to take my car in for an oil change next week – you always do that because you know I hate it. You can’t be gone. Who will take the car in? If you’re gone, then who will understand me? Who will hold my hand?

Process, process, process, my mind whirls around insurance claims and lists of phone numbers. Your phone is in your pocket, down there below and I don’t know if I have contact details for all your cousins. I turn to ask you if those numbers are written down anywhere, but there is no you there. I look down again, the waves are approaching your body now. Your body. When did you transform from being you into being a body? This minute? Five minutes ago? Will you never be you again, only a body on the bottom of a cliff on the edge of my life?

I do not understand who’s going to hold my hand.

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This work by superBadGirl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on a work at thegrandconspiracy.org.