Oh, Benji!

I don't know why I asked for the envelope. It's not that I'm in those moments where I seize to acknowledge that I exist; those times I watch myself living this life from outside the window of my cold room. Those times everything I said or did was exhausting because of the emptiness that plagued my soul. Now, I am very much alive: very much conscious and awake. But I am mildly surprised when I get the envelope; deeply reluctant to open it. The content terrified me, I had to confess. I have come a long way trying to be stronger and to win this consuming darkness with the little light that usually visited me in summer. All that I had run away from were inside this brown paper and my veiny fingers shook as I struggled to open it. I take out a picture of us and I stare at it, appreciating the nostalgia that sweeps over me. I stare at his face, especially his dark eyes, his frizzy brown hair and those freckles he hated, his toothless grin, and his pale arms around me. I smile at the blank expression on my face. He was happy. I looked happy. I let out a gut wrenching sob as the pain overwhelms me. Sometimes, I imagine that guilt and regret trigger this devastating ache that burns and weaken. But I know better. Guilt and regret create foreign were foreign emotions which I could not afford. Apparently, I'm buried too deep in my delusions to feel these things. ******* 20 YEARS AGO When my parents decided to move to Hampshire, I was relieved. I needed a fresh start and a new and different environment provided the perfect opportunity. Hampshire had a lot of beaches and rain or thunderstorms never interrupted the sun. I was fat and I was yet to kiss a boy or ride the big girls bike. Mother said I had all the time in the world. The first day I met Benji, he was covered in grease. His eyes were an unusual shade of brown and I must have creeped him out by staring for too long. I knew I would like him when he kept spewing random facts about Harry Potter even after I had told him that believing magic was lame. We were 14. I was the average loser who knew all the lines in Hamlet and sweated like a pig in gym class. But with Benji, I saw life and understood happiness differently. I embraced a faux deepness that made me all about living in the moment and indifferent to middle school social hierarchy. Even then, when I stared at the mirror and tilted my head to bring out a pretty side, all I saw was a c***k; something slightly wild. I had told Benji and he had kissed me and I had laughed. Benji was sweet, beautiful and his laugh was deep and rich. I loved Benji. Unfortunately, Benji did not love me in the way I wanted him to. Unfortunately, he loved the bubbly artist with the red hair. Benji died when we were 16. Mother had held my hands through the funeral. She had held my hands when they came to our home to ask some questions. She had tried into her hands when they took me away. ******* I shove the pictures back into where they came from and throw the envelope on my table. I know why I asked for it. I had known all along. I'm sorry that I lied. This is my drug. This is what keeps me awake. Tonight, I shall dream of us as kids, riding our bicycles like race cars, screaming because we were young and free. I shall dream of us building sand castles, acting out Hamlet, kissing because we had nothing to do. I shall dream of the Redhair and all the times she took him away from me. I shall dream of him and all the times he chose her over me. I shall dream of pushing him over the cliff and waiting till he died before I screamed for help. His battered skull, his broken neck and all the blood I saw when I looked down shall bring the c****x I have been craving for a long time now. Oh Benji, silly Benji. There was a knife in the envelope, a little cold thing that had made me so happy. Soon, his memory shall not be enough to keep me awake and drive away the darkness. I'll need to make new memories. It's been so long.