T.L. Martin - Touched by Death

R omeo and Juliet themselves couldn't have cast Mom and Dad better if they tried. In fact, if theyd ever had the chance to meet, my parents as a young couple splayed out on their high school stage would have been pretty tight-knit with Shakespeare's tragic duo. I can envision their first conversation perfectly:

Talli and Steve: Ah, yes. Poison, you say?

Romeo and Juliet: Poison, yes, yes. And a dagger, too, if you can spare one?

Talli and Steve: In the name of love? Of course!

Romeo and Juliet: So kind, thank you. Perhaps the two of you might consider playing us on stage in the twentieth century?

Talli and Steve: Why, wed be honored! Even better, we may just try to outdo you two in our time!

Romeo and Juliet: Hahaha, how swell!

I shake my head, knuckles whitening as my grip tightens on the picture. The pair of them had set the stage all right, Mom and Dad. Even in a decades-old photograph, their love bleeds through as they lay tangled in each others arms.

Dammit, Lou, Bobby barks, snapping me from my thoughts. My gaze trails to the weathered porch where hes locking up the front door for me. I can hear it in his voice, the way his frustration is getting the better of him. Originally from Fort Worth, Texas, Bobby already has a heavy southern accent, but when hes irritated it comes out extra thick. You cant keep ignorin me. Wont you just stop and be rational about this for a second?

I dont pause to look back at him as I carefully slide the picture into my back pocket. I grab the final duffel bag from beside my feet, then cram it into the bed of my packed Toyota Tacoma before fitting a blue tarp from one end to the other.

Im not doing this again, Bobby. I cant have this conversation right now, not while Im such an emotional wreck.

God. Just being at the house, seeing Gramss small vegetable garden and getting a distant glimpse of the park I used to walk her to every morning... A fresh, deep ache settles in my chest, cozying up in a way that tells me itll be there for a while. Theres a lot more to see in Los Angeles than a beaten down park, but that didnt stop it from being one of Gramss favorite spots.

I suppress a groan at the memories bombarding me. Doesnt Bobby know how hard this is already? How Ive almost talked myself out of it time and time again? Six whole months since I broke things off with him, and today of all days is when he decides he wants to talk?

Lou... The porch steps creak as he trudges down them. With a reluctant sigh, I finally look at him. It isnt until then, as I watch him drag his feet along the concrete driveway, his eyes cast downward and arms dangling hopelessly at his sides, that I begin to realize just how hard this move might be hitting him.

It doesnt matter that its not his house Im leaving, that he never could convince me to leave Grams behind and move in with him. To Bobby, seeing me walk away from this place is more of a goodbye than when Id walked away from our relationship.

Its not that Bobby is a bad guy. In fact, hes one of the good ones underneath it all. When we first got together, he was the star of the basketball team, on his way to a full scholarship before he blew out a knee senior year. I couldnt care less about the basketball thing, it wasnt the game that drew me to him. Wed slipped into an easy friendship the same week hed moved here, and eventually one thing led to another. What can I say? He was new and friendless, and the loner inside of me was drawn to it. Of course, the charming, goofy side of him didnt hurt, either.

But five years is a long time. Things, like people, change. We arent in high school anymore, and I waited long enough for him to stop staring down the bottom of a beer bottle or at the TV screen.

He approaches me, his hat a little too snug above the newly formed creases between his eyebrows. She left you the house for a reason, Lou. Maybe your grams wanted I cut him off with a warning glare, and he quickly changes tactic. Look. I just... I dont know whenif Im ever gonna see you again. And I have some things I need to say before you go. He scratches the unshaven scruff on his chin with his thumb.

I know it isnt easy for him, trying to open up like this.

What I want more than anything is to crank the engine and slam on the gas pedal, but instead, Im patient. Leaning my left hip against the vehicle, hands tucked into the front pockets of my jeans, I listen.

I get it, all right? I wasnt the best boyfriend in the world toward the end there. I cock an eyebrow. Come on, Bobby. You can do better than that. I fucked up, didnt always treat you like I shouldve. But sometimes... well, sometimes it takes losing someone to appreciate what you really hadI snort. He ignores itIm nothin without you. I shouldve begged you to come back to me then, the second you walked away, but Im here now. And I... shit, I need you, Lou.

There it is. Hes nothing without me. He needs me.

What about what I need?

This move isnt about you, Bobby, I mutter. Hes so far out of the story hes clear across the library, as far as Im concerned. My right sandal taps on the concrete, revealing the irritation Im struggling to hide from my voice. I justI have to get out of here. This house... I swallow, the pain swelling behind my eyes again. I cant stay.

So you move to Ventura. Santa Monica. Whatever. Id understand that. But not clear across the damn country.

I never said I was going across the country. II dont know

Exactly. You dont even know what you want, he interrupts, kicking his voice up a notch. He starts pacing, lingering around my truck. I can smell the cheap beer on him now; it seeps off his skin, mixing with cigarette smoke, the habit he must have picked back up again since the last time I saw him.

I know what I want, I say. And its true. Kind of. I bounce my hip off the truck and maneuver my way to the drivers seat, yanking the door open and climbing inside without a second thought.

My throat is thick, the nostalgia heavy in my chest. Grams is gone; her home is all I have left, and even though I know I have to leave, it isnt easy.

No, Bobby says, his voice muffled by the cracked window. What youre doin is runnin away.

Trying to save face, I roll my eyes and start the engine.

So what? I exclaim. I hate that tears are forming, threatening to spill over my bottom lashes. I just want to stay angry. Anger is so much easier than grief. Whats so wrong with running away? Grams is dead. Moms been dead. And Dad made sure he wasnt too far behind her. The engines low hum is already beginning to soothe me, a subtle reminder of how close I am to getting away from my cursed life. Im so over it.

Things are never as simple as we make them out to be. An uneasy, cold feeling snakes up my skin at knowing my entire life is packed neatly into the back of my truck. Here I am, leaving behind the only home Ive known, about to come face to face with the unknown, and every second that passes only expands the vulnerability building inside me.

I brush the back of my hand under my eye, catching a tear before it falls, and shoot a final glance at Bobby. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans, shoulders hunched forward, eyes still pleading with me. The truth is, its not just me whos dodging a bullet here. We both are. One day, hes going to get himself cleaned up. One day, hell remember who he used to be. And that guy, he deserves to be with someone whose whole heart burns for him. Unfortunately, that person isnt me.