The Day You Left


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4. The day after

I should have known to set an alarm on my phone, so that I could wake up before you and maybe stop you from disappearing without a simple goodbye. When I woke the next morning, you were gone. As was all of your stuff, except for your flannel that you left on the cold, wet ground. I picked it up and caught the slightest whiff of your perfume, which smelled like honey and lavender mixed with a slight scent of rose petals. It was the only thing, other than memories, that I had to remind me of the night you came back. Without it, in all honesty, I probably would have just slid it off as one of the many marvelous dreams I've had of you coming back. I sat up onto my elbows and attempted to get my eyes to flutter open completely. The sun was bright, and extremely hot. Really confusing considering how wet and freezing cold the ground I was laying on was.

I remember getting into my small red pickup truck and punching the steering wheel for letting you leave without me again. I wasn't about to just let you walk off again for another 20 some years. I took off like a bat out of hell, spinning my tires through the grass and mud and then making black skid marks on the road. I drove for a few days, looking in every direction for you, but you were nowhere to be found. I eventually just drove home after drinking a few bottles of Jack Daniels. I'm surprised I didn't end up killing someone, especially myself. I didn't man up enough to give you any of 1,049 letters I wrote of you. I'm now up to 1,520 letters, not including this one. My mother tells me I need to stop and take a check in to real life. But, the funny thing is, she's living in a more fake world than I am, with her mind stuck in the same old doings of this little Wisconsin town. It's been a little over a year since I last seen you, and another 25 years of not having you by my side will probably kill me if the alcohol doesn't.

I wonder how you're doing. Hopefully better, probably worse though. Maybe the depression that seeped into your veins has disappeared by now, maybe you've stopped drinking so much alcohol. I doubt it though, it seems to be your favorite thing is this twisted world we live in.

Today, when I was looking in my red truck for my license, I found something of yours. It was a bottle of Black Velvet liquor, with red lipstick stains around the rim of mouth piece, which had a note attached to it:

Dear Charlie,

I know I probably killed you when I left again, and I'm terribly sorry. I know you would love to come with me out in the world. For the next two years, I'll be in London. You can come find me if you'd like. I'd surly love it. I didn't want to put you on the spot and you feel like you have to come with me. I hope you find this letter soon, I'll be missing you. All of you. Especially the way your thick, short length, dusty brown hair looks when the wind has blown through it, the way your grey eyes that stand out from your light tan skin turns the prettiest shade of blue when the sunlight hits them, and most of all how when I go to hug you, my face can only reach your chest because of your height. I can't wait to have another hug. If you don't come, don't worry, I'll come back eventually to see you. But I do hope to show you the second thing I love most, the world. Because the one thing that I love the most, is you, Charlie.

Love, Sam.

-c.w.

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