My mom sent me to therapy when I started abusing ibuprofen. How embarrassing is that? No thanks, I don’t do cocaine, got any Advil? I started taking a lot of it when I was a sophomore, dealing with new feelings that I couldn’t process. After an ulcer and surgery, I ended up in a stuffy office with a guy whose nose moves like a rabbit. It’s been about a year since my surgery, and now Mr. Bunny Nose and I are working through the events leading up to my overdose. One thought I have to revisit is a crush, Ash. I’m supposed to be moving on from these thoughts and making amends, but I don’t think I want to move past her. We are still friends, but now I’m trying to insert myself into her life in a way she can’t ignore. Let’s set the scene.

“I think you’re like, my new favorite person.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s like I want to spend every day I can with you. I don’t think I've ever felt like that.”

“I feel the exact same way.”

Totally platonic, no questions asked. Right? Wrong. For her it is. It has always been a friendship, nothing more than that. No stolen glances across the room, friends going to each other's events, etc. Not for me. I feel a burning inside of me when I catch her eye, I skipped family dinner to make it to her playoff game, and yes, I like her. A lot. I’ve suppressed these feelings since sophomore year, pushing them down deeper and deeper into my abyss. Now it’s time. Mr. Bunny Nose somewhat knows the depth of this plan, but it’s kind of personal. So here I am, finally following through.

On December 7th, I decided to go to her game. It was a big night, the Stanford hockey coach was coming. This is the perfect time to make my move. I had just gotten my driver's license the week before, and I have been planning this out for months now. The night was going to be great. She came out onto the ice, somehow showing beauty and grace underneath 20 layers of protective padding. Her smile broke through the mouth guard but dropped when she went up for the toss. I think that’s what it’s called at least. I know little to nothing about hockey, but it seems like everything worked well! The game ends with a buzzer-beater where she makes an assist. She meets with her dad, Phil, afterward, and I have to turn away. I know their power dynamic is what keeps her playing so great, but it’s painful to watch. His way of showing that he cares is through being mean, according to their family. I do not understand or relate, but I can move past it. As I wait for her, I get this feeling that everything is going to go well tonight. I’ve been planning this for so long, and it will be very difficult to screw it up. 

Walking out of the arena, she seems small, like something’s off. We both shrug it off and get in the car. Stage one is flowers, so I reach into my backseat and pull out a small bouquet of violets. She accepts them, and I decide not to tell her the significance of the flower. Not yet at least. This is my first time driving her, and she is quite apprehensive as she gets in the car. After some banter, she agrees to go to the Circle K twenty minutes away, just to get the limited edition shirley temple flavored Slurpee. We’re in the car, Slurpees acquired. I can feel the condensation seeping out from the cheap paper cup and onto my sweaty palm. I’m trying not to talk too much about my psychology teacher, which is where I got the idea for the Slurpee night from. I must limit side conversations that will offset the mood. I’m extremely nervous but am somewhat at ease when I realize that she feels the same. Living in a small town is so great, with so many things to do! Therefore, we are in the back of a Target parking lot, listening to music. One of the most important parts of the night is coming up, a song placed specifically at the 14th minute of this playlist. When it comes on, she looks up at me with this gleam in her eyes. I know that I can do this, that it will work. We slowly get out of the car and move towards each other, the shine of the headlights cutting through us like a blade. Coming together, hand in hand, beginning to dance. Our bodies are interlocking puzzle pieces, finally coming together after being separated underneath the couch cushions. The world seems to stand still, and I feel peace, a sense of equilibrium. She melts in my arms, releasing all of the pent-up energy and feelings that we both have been hiding from each other. It all works out, and my perfect high school love story comes true.

On December 7th, I went to the game. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her, so I had to see it. I had to watch the blade of her opponent's ice skate cut through her face, running down to her throat, and through her shoulder. I watched as she fell to the ground, sliding on the ice, with a stream of crimson flowing from underneath her. Shock overwhelms my body, and I am like the ice. Tears flow through me like the blood on the ice rink. I don’t even remember if I could scream. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. No Slurpees, no song, no dancing. I melted into my seat, trying to absorb the pain for her. She doesn’t deserve this level of hurt, yet she is the one facing it. 

On December 8th, I woke up in the hospital, but she didn’t. Her dad is gone, the nurse says he hasn’t been here since they finished the surgery. I can’t believe this, yet it’s exactly what I expected. Who held her hand as she was rushed into the ambulance, looking into her eyes, which were filled with panic and frenzy. It was me, it’s always been me. They have to take her away now. I watch them wheel her frozen body out of the room and through the gleaming metal doors. On the bed, I see her sweatshirt. As I pick it up, I notice a bottle on the side table. Oxycodone sitting right next to its perfect match, Fentanyl. I shouldn’t, but I’m hurting. Just a few won’t hurt me. I grab the bottles and the sweatshirt and rush out of the room.

The fresh air hits me like a brick. How can the flowers bloom with her not here to see them? How does the sun shine so brightly without her here to soak it up? How can I go back to living? I fear I will never be able to be normal again. Although I don’t think I’ve ever reached the level of normal I seek. Normal people don’t immerse themselves in others to finally feel pleased with themselves and think they can function in society. 

A few days later, I go to her grave. The funeral is next Sunday, but I want a moment with her in solitude. I sit by her but am interrupted. Phil is here. 

“Charlie, you need to leave.” He says with an intense authoritarian tone, sending a chill down my neck and through my whole body. 

“Excuse me?” I am shocked

“Look, I don’t want to get involved in all of your teenage drama, but I knew what was going on between you and my daughter. That is not who Ash is, you influenced her into unholy ways of life, and now you will not be allowed to mourn her. She should not have been in your life, so you do not need to be in her afterlife. Now please leave, and do not plan on coming to the funeral.”

Tears well in my eyes. I don’t understand what he is saying, but I can grasp the concept. Leave and never come back. This isn’t fair. I’m on my way home now, full-on bawling. The woman I love is dead, and I am not allowed to cry over her. Suddenly, I get an idea. So what if I’m not allowed to mourn her. What is he going to do if I show up to that funeral? It’s not like he can kick me out!

Turns out he can kick me out. I learned this on Sunday, after trying to make a stand and go to the funeral, only to be booted out by Phil. After the service is over, I march back to her grave and stand next to Phil.

“I know you didn’t want me in your daughter’s life, and I know you don’t want me in her afterlife, but the truth is that I loved her more than you could ever understand. I am going to stand here, I am going to cry and put flowers on her grave, and I am going to mourn.”

My body trembles with fear as I wait for his response. Ash’s mom comes over and hugs me, showing solidarity. I am about to leave when I hear Phil start to speak.

“I’m sorry, but I do understand. I loved a man in high school. We were not allowed to be together due to people’s opinions of us. I think… I think I was jealous. I thought that if I couldn’t be happy in high school, my daughter couldn’t be either. Please forgive me.”

“I forgive you Phil, and I’m sorry you felt that way,”I say, moving towards the grave. I kneel, connecting to the ground. I take the violet out of my bag and place it onto her grave. Weeping, I finally can mourn the loss of my beloved.