She’ll never let me go because she's Poppy, and she loves too hard. She’ll shred little bits of her soul if she thinks she's saving mine, but there is no saving me. It’s up to me to set us both free.
I rummage through the junk drawer, past spare keys and nail polish, and an old birthday card. My fingers brush the smooth glass of my pipe, and I grab it along with the little baggie rubber-banded to it, then I go to the couch and light up.
Mort perches on the arm of the couch, watching in silent judgment while I stroke his arched back. There’s a certain simplicity in lounging on the sofa with a smoke, and I need the calm to find my resolve, so I smoke until the afternoon sun creeps through the living room window. Then on a deep breath, I finally get up and take the pen and notepad from the kitchen.
I flip past the note Poppy wrote a few days ago when she went in early for her shift.
I love you, Brandon O’Kieffe. It’s always, always been you. X
I swallow and turn the page over. The crisp, untouched paper stares back at me until I start writing, bleeding ink onto the page.
Possum,
I'm sorry.
I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and as time has gone on, I've only fallen more in love with you. You are my world, and I know you love me, which is why you’ll forgive me for anything.
But, poss, some things shouldn't be forgiven.
I don't know how to walk away from you because I can't survive without you, and I’d sacrifice everything to keep you safe. I’ve been fighting this war for so long, and I just want it to stop. I just want that sense of peace I find when I kiss you, the serenity your touch brings… I live for those single moments. But you can't survive this thing that lives inside me, and I won't let it have you.
I love you. It’s always been you. Never forget that.
This isn’t goodbye, only see you later.
Brandon.
I inhale another drag off the pipe, allowing the smoke to burn my lungs. When I know Poppy will be on lunch, I call her, I just want to hear her voice before I let her go.
The phone rings once, then the line clicks. "Hey."
I swallow around the lump threatening to choke me. "Hey, possum."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, you?" I’m so far from okay, but right now, I don't want to hash over everything. "I'm so sorry.”
"I know." She takes a deep breath. "I was thinking about making tacos tonight."
This is why I have to do this because she's just so good and pure, and she’ll take it and take it until there is nothing left. She’s pretending nothing happened and why—Because she was unlucky enough to fall in love with me. "That sounds great," I whisper.
"Brandon… I love you."
"And I love you, poss. Always."
"I'll see you when I get home."
"Okay." I swallow hard, and then she hangs up.
I close my eyes, clenching the phone in my hand for a few seconds before I send a text to Finn.
Me: Hey, fancy going to the gym? Meet me at my place?
Finn: Be there in half an hour.
And there it is: half an hour. It has to be now. It has to be Finn and not Poppy.
I tidy away the few dishes in the kitchen. Mort hops up on the counter and meows. “Oh, Mort, come on.” I pick him up and take him to the bedroom, along with his litter box and water bowl, closing the door so he can't get out. Then I fumble along the hallway and into the spare bedroom where my work out equipment is.
I wrap my arms around the punching bag in the corner, lifting it off the hook and laying it on the floor. Then I remember the door and go back to the living to leave it cracked for Finn. The next few seconds are just a series of motions: I grab the chair and the TRX strap, tying and fastening everything where it belongs.
When I sit, the strap tightens. Every instinct in my body tells me to stand back up, to survive. But I don’t. I just want this turmoil to stop; all the images and thoughts that plague my mind, I want them to quiet. But most of all, I want Poppy to find peace. So I stay here until my lungs burn and scream until my head spins and my heart pounds in my chest. I push my body's frantic pleas away, and I remember the first time I saw her, just ten years old, and even then, I knew she was going to turn my world upside down.
The beats of my heart grow erratic, and I wait for that nothingness that holds the promise of so much peace. I gasp for air that won't come, and still, I think of her. Poppy Turner will forever be the girl that ruined me for all others. If it’s possible, I know I’ll love her even in death, and I find my peace in that when the cold numbness falls over me like a veil. And just as everything fades, I see Poppy’s face, her smile, and that peace I’ve been chasing for so long envelops me in its warm, soothing embrace.
61
Poppy
November 2016
Dry grass crunches beneath my shoes as I weave between the tombstones. The cloudless sky is blue, the world inconsiderate of how dark it should feel without him.
I’ve avoided coming here. It’s too hard, but I just needed somewhere to go, thinking that he may hear me.
Patrick wiggles in my arms, whimpering before I wrap the tiny blanket around him and kneel beside Brandon’s grave. Grass clippings scatter his headstone, and I brush them away, tracing my finger over the plaque; over the name I wrote so many times on notebooks and diaries while swooning and wishing Brandon would love me.
The world presses in on me, like the universe is on the verge of imploding, like I’m right back to the moment Finn told me Brandon was gone, and I’m dying all over again.
“He looks just like you, Brandon.” I take a deep breath and stare down at our son, so peaceful with his eyes closed and tiny fists clenched in sleep. “He really does.”
Eight months later, and it’s still not real because Brandon was always there. And maybe that’s why I’m in such denial because a vital part of my heart has always belonged to him, and my soul refuses to acknowledge he’s gone. They both are.
“Brandon,” I take an unsteady breath. “This is Patrick.” My throat burns, and I close my eyes for a moment. “Our little boy that I hope is just like you.”
I sweep a finger over his soft cheek, hating that he will never know the sound of Brandon’s voice. I hate that the life I had imagined since I was ten years old is now impossible, but I remind myself that for a moment, for a flicker in time, we had it. We almost had that dream.
“I wish you were still here,” I whisper. “But, I know you set yourself free.”
Brandon was in such a dark place, already half-dead, and I tried to understand him, help him, love him; but unlike I had been lead to believe, love does not conquer all.
I cradle Patrick against my shoulder, and he grunts, nuzzling his soft head against the crook of my neck. “Brandon, if death was the only place you could find that quiet you needed—“I choke back sobs and take deep breaths—“I hope you found your peace, but I will forever miss you.” Tears fall, constricting my throat. “We will forever miss you.”
Brandon Patrick O’Kieffe was a once in a lifetime experience, and there is nothing—nothing that would ever make me walk away from that. I’ll still hold him in my heart when I’m ninety years old, knowing that I was lucky enough to have experienced a love most people will never have.
The astounding and beautiful truth about love is, it doesn’t matter how long you had the person, just that you did. So, I’ll cling to the belief that I’ll find Brandon in the next life, after all, our love is one that spans eternity, one that deserves more time. In another life—one without the demons.
Shifting our son in my arms, I bring my fingers to my lips, press a kiss to them, then I place my hand on his grave while pain riddles my insides.
My breath catches in my lungs as an all too familiar grief captures my heart. “This isn't goodbye, only see you later.”
the end
Are you in need of a warm, heart felt love story with a happy ending? Read The Sun by Stevie J Cole.
The Tr
uth
20. That is the estimated number of veterans who take their own lives every single day in the United States alone. (US Department of Veteran’s Affairs, 2016).
Those are not simply numbers; those are 20 people who are loved and needed. 20 people who are lost each day, forever changing the lives of those they leave behind.
To the men and women who have so selflessly defended our countries, thank you. We will always remember.
The Beginning and End of Everything Page 26