When I'm Gone

by Katilyn S

  I glanced behind me and saw Alex and Hope standing at the gate’s entrance. Behind them, a car was idled, still running. Just thinking about the warmth in the car, had me longing to get up and walk away.

  I can’t leave him, I told myself. I wrapped my long arms around my body as if I was going to fall apart any moment. It feels like that, anyway.

  “Claire, you don’t have to do this,” Alex called out. I cut my gaze towards him and glared at him through narrowed eyes. He held his hands up in a ‘back-off’ manner and I turned back away.

  “Yes, I do,” I said back. I said it again to reassure myself, “I do.”

  “Just leave her alone,” Hope whispered harshly. He voice broke on hte last word and she stifled a sob. I rolled my eyes and ran my hands together, then taking the leather gloves off. It was getting colder as the sun went down.

  Slowly, I ran my fingers over the stone’s edge. It was icy to the touch. I shivered again and pulled back. I reached behind me and pulled out a single rose. I set it on the stone and felt a frozen tear cling to my cheek as I fingered the block lettering on the front of the stone.

  Michael Herring. July 30, 1974 to September 11, 2001. A loved son, brother, and hero to many.

  “Oh,” I choked out and pressed a fist to my mouth. I swallowed a sob and tried to get my mind on something else. Sadly, I couldn’t think of anything but him.

  They found his body two days after the Twin Towers collapsed. His arm was hooked through his best friend, Andrew’s. Over a dozen other fire fighters were found on that day too.

  When they found him, they had to pull a large piece of the wall from the top of his body. They believe that that was what killed him. He was hit with that piece of debris and it crushed him against the rest of the destruction. He was killed instantly; his spine breaking in two and his spinal cord snapping.

  I let out another sigh and let the tears fall. I clearly remembered the day that I found out that he was dead for real.

  It was only three days after the devastating day, millions would remember. A day that would go down in history as one of the worst attacks in the United States.

  I was in my apartment cleaning up the kitchen from my breakfast when I heard a faint knock against the door. At first, I thought Alex had invited Hope over, so I waited for him to get it. After a minute or two, there was another knock; one that sounded urgent and impatient.

  My heart swelled and I ran to the door, thinking that he had finally come home. I had always pictured him dead, but that could have been the best surprise of my life.

  I threw the door open, looking for a tall man with shaggy black hair and bright green eyes, but what I got wasn’t what I wanted.

  Outside, stood a heavyset man in his late forties. He had thinning blonde hair on the top of his round head and had small blue eyes that scanned me over. He was wearing a nice, official-looking suit, complete with a wooden cane.

  “Yes?” I wondered aloud. My heart was still pounding in my chest and I tried to relax.

  “Claire Barnes?” he stated in a deep, booming voice. I nodded slowly.

  “That’s me,” I replied and placed my hands on my hips. “What is this all about?”

  “Are you the girlfriend to a,” he scanned over the clipboard he had clutched in his hand, “Michael Herring?”

  Once Michael’s name was uttered from the man’s lips, my heart kicked into overtime, pounding against my chest in such a way that I was certain that the man could hear it. I swallowed loudly and placed a hand over my fluttering heart.

  “Yes,” I choked out. The man watched me with a twinge of sadness in his eyes. he tightened his grip on his cane before speaking.

  “I am so sorry to tell you...,” he started. My eyes widened and I let out a sob.

  “No,” I muttered in agony. I bit my lip and tried not to let the tears flow. “Please God, no.”

  “...that Michael Herring died in the collapse of the South Tower on September 11, 2001,” he stated. His eyes saddened and I could feel my bottom lip trembling.

  “No,” I shot out again, this time with more force. His eyes widened with surprise. “He isn’t dead. I know he isn’t. He promised me that he would be back. He loves me.”

  “I’m so sorry Miss Barnes,” he whispered and nodded his head. I reached out and snagged the end of his coat. I pounding my fists against his chest, but he seemed unmoved.

  “No.” I was shouting now, my voice echoing throughout the apartment. “He isn’t dead!”

  The man was trying to pry me away from his coat tails, but I tightened my grip. Suddenly, there was another pair of arms underneath mine, pulling me away. Fingers that weren’t mine pryed me from my grasp on the man’s coat. The man huffed and muttered something unintelligent before walking off.

  I was dragged back to the couch in the living room before the person let me go. They walked back to the door and closed it, but not before locking it first. They came back over to me and I closed my eyes.

  “Claire,” a soft voice murmured. I looked up into my brother’s dark green eyes and felt the tears start streaming down my face. I burried my face in my hands and sobbed.

  “It isn’t fair,” I cried, my voice muffled through my hands. “It just isn’t fair.”

  “Sh,” Alex soothed. I heard him sit down on the floor next to me. His arms were suddenly around me, trapping me. I turned towards him and cried into his shoulder.

  We sat like that for a couple of hours. My tears soaked through his t-shirt and he ran his hands over my back. He murmured the same words to me over and over again. They replayed again and again in my mind as I sobbed into his shoulder.

  “It will all be okay, Claire. It will all be okay. It will all be okay.”

  I let out another sob and ran a hand over my face. I wiped the tears off my face, but they continued to stream down my face, splashing onto the already damp glass below.

  “It won’t all be okay.” I uttered under my breath. “It won’t.”

  I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pocket knife I had stashed in it an hour ago. I hid it from Alex and when I knew he wouldn’t be able to see it, I looked down at the samll red case.

  I found the knife in Alex’s sock drawer. I guessed that he kept it for safety purposes. I had taken it from him and kept it, waiting for the perfect time to use it.

  I flipped the blade out again and took in a deep breath. I ran a finger against the sharp edge, wincing as a stabbing pain flew up my arm. I looked down again and saw a drop of red, sitcky liquid on the tip of my finger. I touched my tongue to it and shuddered at the taste. It tasted like rust and salt.

  “I’m going to be with you soon, Michael,” I declared and tightened my grip on the handle. My hand shook as I pressed the tip of the blade to the inside of my wrist. I quickly slid the knife across my skin, before I could think otherwise.

  “Argh,” I cried out in pain as I dropped the knife. I clutched my wrist and could feel the blood seeping through my fingers. I took in short, labored breaths and tried to look around for the knife. My vision blurred with unshed tears as I groped the ground for the blood stained blade that was going to end it. End me.

  “Claire!” Alex shouted in my direction and ran towards me. He reached out and grabbed the knife before I could and threw it out of sight. “Claire!”

  He took the scarf from around his neck and tied it around my wrist. I looked up, my vision still clouded and could only make out his figure as he frantically worked over me. Pain shot up my arm again and I screamed out in anguish.

  “Sh, Claire,” Alex yelled again. His lips were right next to my ear; his breath hot and harsh. “It will all be okay. It will all be okay. We are going to get you help.”

  “Alex,” Hope showed up beside him and I noticed that she was wringing her wrists. She shot a look at me and blanched at the drops of blood covering my skin and clothes. “What-what...”

  “I need you to call 911,” he commanded. “She slit herself pretty deep and this scar
f isn’t going to hold off much longer.”

  Hope hesitated for a moment, watching me cry out with pain.

  “Hope, go now!” shouted Alex. She ran off, fresh tears running down her face. Alex turned back to me, placing my head in his lap.

  “Alex,” I muttered, reaching my free hand out towards him. He snatched my hand and wrapped his fingers around mine. He grimaced down at me and sighed.

  “Why, Claire?” he asked. “Why did you try to kill yourself? Why?”

  “Because, I can’t live without him. A person can’t live without their heart,” I stated and closed my eyes. Alex was silent for a moment and all of a sudden I tasted salty water on my tongue.

  My eyes flicked open and I frowned. I wasn’t crying, was I? I looked up into Alex’s face and gaped at the tears trailing down his cheeks. He muffled sobs, making his shoulder shudder violently. I squeezed his hand and he looked at me through bleary eyes. My brother was actually crying for the first time in years.

  “I love you,” I murmured and closed my eyes. I let out a long breath and could faintly hear sirens edging closer. But I focused on the voice next to my ear.

  “God, no,” Alex sobbed into my ear. “Claire, you can’t die now. What will I do now? Please don’t leave me, Claire. I need you. Claire, I love you.”

  I smiled softly and felt new pairs of hands tugging at my body. I finally fell into a deep sleep, seeing Michael’s face in my mind.

  Epilogue-September 11, 2002 (Claire)

  It had already been a year since the terrorist attacks. There were rescuers still finding bodies amongst all of the rubble on Ground Zero. Sometimes I wondered if the death toll would ever end.

  “Oh, Michael,” I murmured, running a hand over a large painting on my bedroom wall. The canvas was rough to the touch, but the layers of paint splattered on it, gave it a bubbly effect. I traced the outline of the the man’s lips and sighed softly. The corners of his mouth were hitched up in a shy smile; his green eyes lit up with happiness. It felt like I could just reach out and run my hand through the black hair piled on the top of his head.

  I coughed and left my hand drop to my side. I walked away and into the living room where another large canvas sat upon the wall above the television.

  The Twin Towers stood side by side, looking proud and tall. Then, when your gaze reached the top, red and yellow flames jumped into the skies; smoke billowed out of two large gaping holes. The words, ‘We Will Never Forget’ were enscribed on the bottom of the drawing.

  I smiled sadly and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. As I did so, a lond white stripe of skin caught my attention. I pulled my wrist back to eye level and studied the scar that wrapped around the inside of my wrist. I frowned slightly and ran a finger over it, wincing at the painful memories it brought back.

  I pulled up my loose black tee and placed my wrist against the rough skin of stomach comparing the two. The scars covering my stomach matched the one on my wrist almost exactly. It could have been done by the same person. With the same knife.

  Through bleary eyes, I could see his silhouette aginst the bright light that intruded my bedroom. I squinted and could make out a sharp object gripped in his right hand. I gasped and my heart starting pounding against my rib cage, wanting to burst out of my chest.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I whispered in a shaking voice. He laughed mockingly and pressed the knife against my skin. I whimpered lowly and he pulled the blade away.

  “Something that will teach you to never yell at me again,” he warned in a low voice.

  He snatched my wrists and tied them together with a piece of rope that he produced from his pocket. Then, he climbed on top of me, straddling me so that I couldn’t kick my way out.

  Grunting, he ripped my tank top off my body, leaving me in only a bra. I flushed at the exposure. He ran a callused hand over my skin, making me shudder involuntarily.

  “Please don’t,” I managed. His gaze flickered to me and then back to the skin on my stomach. He tightened his grip on the knife and leaned over my body.

  Suddenly, pain erupted on my stomach and I arched my back. He slapped the back of his hand across my cheek and I winced at the stinging sensation. He pressed his free hand onto my chest, trapping me from rearing back.

  He then made another line down my stomach with the blade of the knife. I cried out in terror and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Priss,” he muttered under his breath, making another line.

  “Brat.” Another stroke.

  “You are completely worthless.” With every insult he spat at me, he made another line across my stomach. I could feel the warm blood pooling underneath me. I whimpered again and tried to pull away.

  “Stop it,” he screamed into my ear. I froze and he stared at me long and hard. Finally, he went back to cutting my skin; deep enough for me to bleed, but not deep enough for me to die. I bit my lip, waiting for it to be over.

  When he finally left an hour later, I jumped out of bed, stumbling to the ground as I did so. On my knees, I crawled towards the bathroom looking for something-anything-to stop the bleeding.

  On the counter top I saw a towel and I reached up to grab it. At first, I slipped and fell inches short of reaching it. Eventually, I was able to knock it off the counter and onto the floor. I snatched it, pressing it against my stomach.

  It stopped the bleeding, but it definitely didn’t stop the pain.

  I could feel myself slipping in and out of conciousness as I feel back onto the tile floor. My cheek hit the cold tile and I shuddered violently. Right before I slipped into a deep sleep, I noticed that the lines spelt out a word.

  ‘UGLY’.

  “Claire,” someone called out from behind me. I turned, pulling my tee back down over my puckered skin, and saw Alex waiting by the hallway. He gave me the once over and smiled softly. I sighed and he nodded as if he understood.

  He was wearing a pair of khakis with a dark brown polo. He had on his nicest shoes and his dark hair had been recently washed; it looked damp to the touch. I tugged on the hem of my black tee, making sure it fit perfectly over my dark-wash jeans. I brushed my fingers over the bright red scarf which hung loosely from my neck.

  “You look fine,” Alex promised. I nodded slightly and walked over to him. He hooked his arm through mine and we walked out the door.

  “Is Hope still coming?” I wondered aloud as we stomped down the stairs to the lobby. Alex shook his head and smiled at my confused expression.

  “I told her that today was going to be family day. She understood,” he replied smoothly. We entered the lobby and were about to go out the front door when I caught the eye of a familiar woman.

  “Claire,” Mrs. Trinity greeted. I smiled at her and she walked out of her little office. “How are you?”

  “Taking it one day at a time,” I admitted as she hobbled towards me. She stopped right in front of me and took my hand in hers. I could feel the bones in her fingers as she rubbed them over my scar on my wrist.

  “Me too, deary,” she replied. “Me too.”

  “Well, I have to get going,” I said and took my hand away. “We are going to dinner and then to an art musuem.”

  “Okay, Claire,” she laughed. “Have fun and say hello to Michael for me, the next time you go and see him.”

  I blinked back tears and forced a smile at her.

  “I will,” I promised and waved. She nodded and I went out the door, finding Alex waiting with a cab at his side. He gestured for me to get in and I did, smiling gently.

  “How is Mrs. Trinity?” he asked. I swallowed loudly and looked over at him through bleary eyes.

  “She is doing great,” I lied through clenched teeth. Alex took my hand and I weaved my fingers through his. He squeezed my hand and smiled at me.

  “How are you?” He stared at me, waiting for an answer. I frowned and bit my lip.

  “Not so good right now,” I confessed. Alex nodded looking relieved and I sighed. “It’s just so h
ard, you know? I mean, it has been a year, but a long year at that. I barely made it through the first school year. God, I barely made it through the first day of school this year.”

  “It must be really hard for you,” Alex stated. My bottom lip trembled as a tear slipped out of the corner of my eye and down my cheek.

  “It is,” I murmured through my tears. Alex sat up straighter and let go of my hand. I looked up at him and saw that he was glaring back down at me. “What?”

  “For one,” he said, “I want you to stop crying. We aren’t going to do that tonight. Second, I want tonight to be one of the most fun-filled nights you have had in a year, okay? And third, I want you to throw out all thoughts of Michael right now. You won’t be able to have fun if you keep thinking about him.”

  “I can try,” I whispered. Alex relaxed a little.

  “Good,” he stated and looked out the window. I did the same and just ahead, I could see the small yellow building. The same one I had been going to every week so far in order to remember him. I could faintly smeel syrup and waffles.

  “Here it goes,” I muttered to myself as Alex opened the taxi door. I started to slide out after him and as I did, I heard my favorite song come on the radio.

  “And when I’m gone, just carry on. Don’t mourn; rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice. Just know that everytime I’m lookin’ down on you smilin’ and didn’t feel a thing. So, baby, don’t feel my pain. Just smile back.”

  The End

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