Before I Left

I’d been avoiding it for weeks, the simple fact of me leaving. I didn’t think about it directly, didn’t let myself picture it. Not until yesterday morning. I opened my eyes—not even eight o’clock yet—and suddenly felt it, this brush of the future in my chest. The boxes were still there, on the floor. My life packed into cardboard. That’s when it got real.

The sun was too bright or my eyes weren’t adjusted. I could only see the outline of Ana’s mouth. She wouldn’t really understand for another few weeks that I was actually gone. She’d cry on the train home, probably. Before I left, she gave me this small Patrick Star toy that talks when you press a button—says something about being best friends. I remember the lake, that constant splashing, and holding her wet body against mine for the last time, kissing her on the cheek. I knew I wouldn’t hold her like that again.

There were messages. Lisa wrote: I read your blog. I almost cried. Your thoughts are beautiful. People were paying attention, it turned out. At three in the morning, Becca and Eniz were on the floor across from me. We’d already put the Skip-Bo cards away. They’d stayed with me until the moment I had to leave. The last people I hugged in Buchloe before getting in the car.

Eniz left a note: We all know and believe in you. Don’t forget us. You are and will remain our brother. The kind of thing that hits you differently when you’re about to drive away and maybe never live in this town again.

I was too tired to panic when I got in the car. The exhaustion helped somehow—made it feel less immediate, like I could just move through it without the full weight of it landing. Becca texted: It’s raining here. Buchloe is sad you’re leaving now.

I don’t think I ever wrote back.