The Emi Lost & Found Series

by Lori L. Otto

  Again, I remember his distant stare... the most horrifying image I’d ever seen, not just of Nate, of the man I loved, but of any human being. Get it out of my head! Please, God, get it out of my head!!!

  I crumple to the floor in a fetal position, crying, yelling, hugging the giraffe and his shirts, wanting to push the memory back to where it had been hiding for the past few weeks. I wanted to rip the image of Nate dying, dead, out of my mind forever. Of all the times I had begged to remember the events of this night, I never knew I was begging for this. I take it all back! I don’t want to remember! This is not how I want to remember him.

  Alive, happy, in bed, in love. That’s the picture of Nate I want to hold on to forever. Not this one. Not this one. He is dead. Dead. The word is so horrific, so cold, so final, so ugly, so inhuman... oh, make it go away make it go away make it go away, please, God, make it go away!

  “Emi!” Chris calls to me, hearing my screams, my prayer. “Emi, it’s okay,” he says, sitting on the floor next to me, lifting my head into his lap. He strokes my hair, repeating that it’s okay, over and over and over again. He cries with me.

  “He’s dead, Chris,” I tell him. “I saw everything. I can’t stand it. I didn’t want to see him like that. I don’t want to remember him like that.”

  “Oh, Emi,” he says. “I am so sorry.”

  I have no idea how much time passes, likely hours, but eventually, there are no more tears, my eyes are completely dry, my head pounds, feels numb. I sit up on my own. It’s dark outside.

  “Are you okay?” Chris asks quietly, clearly worried.

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Donna called me when she left. I tried to call you... I came up when you wouldn’t answer.”

  “I don’t even remember my phone ringing,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, Em, I’m sorry. Sorry you were in here alone to go through that.”

  “Can we go home?” I ask him. “I can’t stay here.”

  “Of course, Emi.” He helps me up, takes the t-shirts and blue box from my arms and begins to lead me out of the room. I look at the giraffe, left behind on the floor, and start crying again. I yearn to hear his voice again, to pull that harmless little cord so I can hear him confirm his excitement about the baby, and about the changes in our life she would bring. True love... I want to hear him...

  Chris’s arms around my shoulders, he pulls me with him out the door, leaving the painful reminder behind.

  On the table sits the key that Donna left. I pick it up, and– through tears– take one last look at this place, wondering if it could ever be my home without him, and walk through the door, locking it securely behind me. Chris holds his hand out for the key, and I willingly give it to him. I’m not sure I will ever want it back.

  As we wait for the elevator, I glance back down the hallway. My eyes widen as I see an image of Nate standing in the doorway of his sun-drenched apartment. The tears welling in my eyes finally force me to blink, and he disappears. I tuck my head into Chris’s shoulder as he pulls me into the lift.

  ~ * ~

  I wore that sweater the day I flew to LA. This shirt, I had chosen for his birthday. He was with me when I bought the grey jacket. Each article of clothing hanging in my closet has some meaning attached to it. I should have agreed to go with my sister yesterday when she had offered to take me shopping.

  I finally just close my eyes, inhale deeply, and take the first thing I touch off the hanger. Nate doesn’t care what I wear today. In my mind, he’s always with me anyway, watching over me. At least I hope he is. Today will be no different than any of the others that have passed since he died. I’m still expected to go on with my life. I’m getting better, I think. When I’m alone, I normally sleep to dream, and see him often. Nothing earth-shattering. I don’t believe he’s come to “visit” me again. Most dreams remind of the times we had spent together over the years as friends. Every time I wake up from one of these dreams, I feel a sense of longing for him– but I also feel like I’ve made it through another hour or two, or another night without him... and I realize I’m one step closer to seeing him again in the afterlife. That’s what I believe, and it gets me through the long hours without him.

  When other people are around, it’s different. No one lets me get lost in my thoughts. A concerted effort is made to distract me, to entertain me, to feed me, to prepare me for whatever plans they’ve made. Nate may come up in passing, but it’s not a topic I’m allowed to spend too much time on. But today, it’s different.

  Today, I can spend as much time on Nate as I want. I’d dreaded the approaching day, but now that it’s finally here, I know it’s going to be good to remember him as a group of close acquaintances. To exchange stories of the man we all loved; the only man I’d ever loved.

  “Emi, that color is beautiful on you, but that blouse doesn’t fit you anymore,” my sister says from across the room of my apartment. Teresa had left us alone so I could get ready. I realize I still haven’t moved away from the closet entryway. I finally look down to see what shirt I had chosen to wear. I smile wistfully, a tear coming to my eye.

  “It never did.” I button up the shirt. It fits even worse than it did the first time I wore it. I didn’t realize I had lost so much weight.

  “Then why would you ever buy it?” she asks, moving toward me.

  “I didn’t.” I find a flowing black skirt and pull it on, zipping it up. It barely hangs on to my hips. Wow. I had no idea.

  “It was a gift?”

  “Not quite. I kind of stole it.”

  “From?”

  “Nate. It was his.” My sister is silent as she looks at me, moving closer. She touches the ruffle down the middle. Yes, it’s definitely a ruffle.

  “His as in... a girl left it at his place?” Jen asks cautiously.

  “No. He bought it for himself.”

  I take a few steps toward the mirror, standing in front of it as Jen moves behind me. I straighten out the shirt and flop the cuffs, just as I had the first time I recognized how long the ill-fitting sleeves were. I start to smile at the memory, the first time I’ve smiled all day. My sister smiles back, but can’t contain her laughter any longer.

  “This was Nate’s?” she says, giggling and rolling up my sleeves.

  I start to laugh with her. “I know,” I say. “I thought the same exact thing. I figured I was doing him a favor by removing it from the loft... god, it seems like yesterday, but it was over a year ago...”

  I gulp, realizing the occasion for which he had intended to wear it. The merriment of the moment stops immediately. Oh, God. I never would have thought, on that day, that he’d die a year later... to the day. Everything was so different then. I’ve changed so much.

  I look long and hard in the mirror at my gaunt body, realizing it’s not only my physical characteristics that have changed. He changed me. I learned what it really meant to love someone.

  “It’s time to go, Em,” Jen tells me, seeing me on the verge of falling apart. She puts her arm across my shoulders and leads me toward the door.

  In the car, my sister sings along to the radio as I stare blankly out the passenger window, returning to my earlier train of thought. He had changed me for the better. He showed me love, like I never knew it... only to have it stolen from me way too soon. We didn’t have enough time.

  I wasted so many years chasing a feeling that probably never even existed– in sobriety, anyway. I never claimed to be sensible... but I loved him, with all my heart, for so long. I loved him as a best friend would, but kept my heart at a safe distance. When I finally decided to set aside this mystical notion of romance, I was able to see my real feelings for him. I was so nervous before I went to LA. I had no idea what he would say to the idea of dating one another. It was the biggest relief to learn that he still felt the same way.

  I’ll never forget the way he looked at me that first night in LA, the first night we were together. I thought I had seen Nate in e
very capacity. I thought I knew all of his expressions, but this one was brand new to me. As I stood naked in front of him, as I never had before, my heart pounded in my chest. The women he chose to date were model-caliber, and I was afraid I couldn’t offer him enough. One look into his eyes, though, confirmed it all, and I knew I had no reason to be afraid. As his hands drifted over my body, his eyes finally met mine. In them, I saw commitment. Devotion. Assurance. Pure love. I had his undivided attention, all I had ever wanted from him. The impromptu poem he recited to me touched me deeply. My eyes well up as I realize I can’t remember the words any more. Why didn’t I write it down?

  Shaking away the regret, I remember the moments just before we made love. When he joined me under the crisp sheets of the hotel bed, his attentiveness deepened. He was focused, confident, wanting and needing, curious and excited. I could tell it was a moment he had longed for, and one he was happy to see to fruition. His love became lust, an emotion he was ashamed of, but I was happy he felt it for me. It felt good to be wanted like that. I don’t think any man had ever wanted me like that.

  I start to cry again, realizing no man may ever look at me like that again. Jen pulls into a parking spot and hands me a tissue before getting out of the car at the restaurant. She comes around to my side of the car and opens the door, reaching in to hug me.

  “It’s okay, Em,” she whispers in my ear, kissing my temple. “We’re all here for you.”

  “I know,” I choke out, grateful to have support from my family and friends. “I’m okay.” Her arm across my shoulder, she guides me to the entranceway of Frontbar. Nate’s last client, Albert, was more than willing to close his bar for the afternoon for the memorial service.

  “You look very pretty, Emi,” Anna tells me. I know I don’t, but appreciate the effort she’s putting forth.

  “Thanks,” I tell her, wondering why I bothered letting my sister fix my hair and put makeup on me this morning. There is no way that I won’t be a sobbing mess in a matter of minutes.

  “Are you ready?” Chris asks, his arm around Anna’s waist.

  “I guess,” I say, taking a deep breath. Chris opens the door, and Anna helps me into the building. A large, framed picture of Nate is the first thing I see. It was taken in his apartment, on his birthday. It’s a candid that Teresa took from across his loft. He’s amid a group of his guests, smiling, actually waving. It was likely taken right before he thanked everyone for coming. It’s beautiful, really represents him well, the Nate we all knew and loved. It’s like he’s waving goodbye. I touch the glass softly, imagining I’m touching his lips. “I miss you,” I whisper to him, hoping he can hear me, wherever he is.

  Nate’s mother is the first to welcome me, hugging me tightly, a long embrace. Other guests follow suit. My parents and their spouses, my sister’s husband, Clara, Albert, Kate, Nate’s bandmates Eric and Jason, and Teresa. A small grouping of chairs surround a podium, and after everyone greets me, they all begin to find seats. Albert stands behind the podium.

  “I just want to thank everyone for coming,” he says softly. “I thought we’d just open this up to let you come up and say something about Nate... a memory, a story, a feeling... anything. I’ll start.” He continues. “When I hired Nate, he was just another contractor to me. I saw talent in him immediately, but I just wanted his art. What I didn’t expect was to become friends with him. We were nothing alike, but he was just such a passionate person with his art, and he was really driven. That was what I could relate to. His drive to succeed. He really made an impression on me, and I’m happy I had a chance to know him.”

  He takes a seat, and Kate stands in front of us next, speaking to his incredible talent, as well. She was followed by Eric and Jason, who speak together about his wild creativity and his ability to bear his soul in his lyrics and songs. They admired his courage, and his dedication to putting on a good show. Teresa talks about his sense of humor. Jennifer speaks for Clara, retelling stories of fun times that she and her Nate-Nate had together. Everyone takes a turn, my parents, my brother, Anna, even Donna. They all say such beautiful things about him. Once everyone has a turn, I begin to panic, realizing I should probably go up to the podium and say something. I am not prepared for this.

  I stand up and hobble my way to the podium. I face my audience, and once I realize they’re all staring at me expectantly, I just look down. I stand quiet, looking for words, stories, something to share with these people who also loved the man I loved. It’s all too personal, though. I’m not ready to share our moments with anyone else. Maybe I’m being selfish, I don’t care.

  “I love him,” I mumble. “I miss him. There will never be anyone like him. Um... I love him.” I start to cry, my knees begin to buckle under the weight of my heavy heart. Chris comes to the podium, leads me back to a seat, puts his arm around me and hands me a tissue. I hear other sniffles around me.

  Albert stands and lets us know that he has some food and drinks on the bar. Everyone gets up and gives each other hugs or makes their way to the food. I stay in my seat, feeling unable to move. I see Teresa talking to Donna, handing her a large book. Nate’s mom opens it and touches a page gently. I hear her thank Teresa, and then she embraces her warmly.

  Teresa looks over at me as Donna walks away from her. Our eyes meet, and she smiles. She walks toward me and sits down in the chair to my left.

  “Emi,” she begins. “I put together an album of the pictures I took on Nate’s birthday... the ones in Central Park.”

  “That’s what you gave Donna?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she tells me. “I have one for you, too. When you’re ready.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “You sure?” she asks, reluctant.

  “I’m sure.” She stands and walks toward the bar, where another large book sits. I notice she exchanges a glance with my mother.

  “Here you go,” she says proudly. I open it up to the first photo, and it’s a picture of Nate holding me, my legs wrapped around him. We’re smiling, looking into each other’s eyes, our noses touching, leaves scattered on the ground below.

  “It’s beautiful,” I tell her, happy but so sad at the same time. This was one of the best moments of my life, when I told him I loved him for the first time. He had been so excited, he picked me up and swung me around. “We look so happy.” The next pages are some of the posed shots we took, sitting on the park bench, on the ground, in a constant embrace. In each picture, I see something in Nate that I had forgotten about... an expression, a gesture, a smile. They all hold something unique.

  As I turn another page, there are two pictures that simply cause me to gasp. One is of him hugging me into his chest. He is resting his head on mine, smiling, and I look sad. I’m crying. I remember the regret I had felt in that moment, the regret of not allowing myself to love him sooner. The photo on the opposite page is of us sitting on the bench, our knees angled toward one another. He’s looking down into my eyes, I’m looking up in to his, hopeful. His hand is wiping a tear from my cheek. I close the book quickly.

  “Are you alright?” Teresa asks me, and I nod. I just imagine him watching over me now, wanting to embrace me, to wipe the tears from my eyes. I know that, wherever he is, he would be wanting to comfort me. He was always so quick to make the tears stop... all my life he had comforted me. I wish he was here now to pick up the pieces, to clean up the mess that was made when he left...

  After an hour or so, people come and sit next to me, offer me soothing words, try to get me to eat something. I struggle to be polite, social, just hugging the album tightly. Eventually, people start leaving. Chris walks over to me.

  “Emi, Anna’s going to get a ride back with Jennifer,” he tells me. I nod. “Will you come with me?”

  “Yes.” He leads me to the car, and as I put on the seatbelt he turns to me, again his eyes filled with sorrow.

  “I’d like to take you to the cemetery, Em. Just the two of us. In fact, I can stay in the car. You can go talk to him...”<
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  I burst into tears, knowing that this was coming but still no more prepared. “Okay,” I tell him, swallowing hard. I do have things to say to him.

  Chris walks me to the gravesite, identified by a temporary marker. The flowers that adorn the grave look fresh, new. I figure they were brought here by his mother, my family. I know that they have been doing everything in their power to prepare me for this. I carry the album with me in one hand, his silk tie in the other, and sit down on a marble bench that is located next to the site.

  “Can I have a few minutes?” I ask Chris once I’m settled.

  “Of course, Emi. Take your time.” He squeezes my shoulders and I hear his footsteps walking away behind me. After a few moments of silence, I flip the album back open to the first page.

  “Look how cute we are,” I laugh, a tear falling. “I had never been happier, Nate. It just felt... natural... to be with you. Obvious. I felt like I was the only thing that mattered to you.” I turn a few pages, finding the photos that had upset me at the memorial.

  “I’m still crying today, Nate, but these tears are nothing like the ones I cried that day. I remember being so overcome with emotions, with love, that I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I couldn’t contain the way I felt for you any longer. I felt like I had been hiding the words for too long and couldn’t wait to tell you, so sure of my feelings.

  “These tears today, though, Nate. I don’t know if they’ll ever stop. I know I’ll never stop loving you. I can’t imagine not missing you, every minute, every hour, every day. I don’t know if it will get any easier. I hope it does... but I hope you know that if I cry fewer tears, that doesn’t mean I love you any less. You were my soul mate. No one else can ever be that to me. We were that to each other. We get to keep that part of each other. So, I guess, in a sense, part of your soul will be with me all the time.”

  I smile, feeling chills at that thought. The thought that I do get to carry a piece of him with me always.