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It had rained since the day he left.
No. Died. The day he died.
Saying he left made it sound like he was coming back, and that was too much false hope.
It was bad enough to look up expecting to see him whenever someone walked into the bar; or to hear footsteps that sound nothing like his and yet still be sad when they passed by.
Sometimes there was a laugh that sounded just enough like his that it took an effort not to turn around to look for him. It was almost worse than the times when someone who looked just enough like him from the corner of the eye walked past, and for a moment he was there again.
The worst part, was forgetting he was gone. It was turning to ask a question and seeing an empty room. It was making a joke and not hearing the laugh that used to follow. It was reaching for his hand, and meeting nothing.
Because then he was gone all over again.
So no, he hadn’t left, he had died.
It would get easier day by day to remember and accept that, but for now it was still raw.
Somedays, the thought came that maybe it would have been better if nothing had happened. If they had never danced. Never shared that moment. Never shared their hearts.
It wouldn’t have stopped the hurting, that was always going to happen. The only way to prevent that would have been to never care about him.
It might have made everything afterwards a little bit easier.
Because there wouldn’t have been as much to lose. The aching gap he left behind might have been just a little bit smaller.
But in the end, it would still hurt. And it may even have hurt more, never knowing what could have been, always wondering if there was an opportunity missed.
The “what ifs” may have been more unbearable than the pain itself.
But they had. They’d danced, they’d shared, they’d loved. For one moment, they had been totally unafraid of consequences, and it had changed their lives forever. For the better.
And that was worth all of it. All the grief, and the heartache, and the loss.
After all, what was the old saying? “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
And what a love it was that would have been missed.
All those moments. The mornings when they woke up at the same time but spent a few extra minutes in bed together anyways. The nights spent in the safety of their home, lying as close as possible to make sure the other was still there. Laughing at something that was only funny to them. Sharing a knowing look but never saying anything because they both already knew what they wanted to say.
Kissing him. Holding his hand. Holding him.
Loving.
Being loved.
There are never guarantees in life, everyone knows that. Some accept it better than others. Human beings have developed an innate sense of knowing when something important is happening, knowing that things are going to change after it, but there isn’t a soul alive who knows what that change is going to look like.
We try to prepare ourselves for whatever may come, go over every possibility in our heads, but in the end we’re never really ready. Not when it’s something that matters.
Sami sat in their bedroom, lights off, staring out at the rain pouring into the city.
It had rained since the day Charlie died.
The phonograph played in the other room, music trying to fill the empty spaces. He wasn’t sure what the song was, just picked a record at random and put it on so it wouldn’t be so damn quiet.
Softly, with barely enough sound to be heard, he started humming to himself. He didn’t know the words very well, but he knew the tune by heart. Something about the lights in the sky, the heavenly dancers, and going home. The thought made the melody catch in his throat.
Home.
Gone.
Why did he have to go.
Sami covered his face with his hands, curling in on himself as he started to cry.
It wasn’t the first time he’d cried, but this time it was different. The music and the rain covered the sobs, wrapping around him in a gentle embrace.
He wasn’t crying because he’d lost Charlie, he was crying because he’d accepted Charlie’s death.
Some time later, he didn’t know how long, the phonograph had played itself out, and the rain no longer pounded against the window. Instead, when he looked up, a golden ray was spilled across the floor.
Sami stood and walked to the window. Over the tops of the buildings, he could just barely make out the setting sun through a break in the clouds.
For a moment, Sami swore he saw a green flash as the sun disappeared behind the roofs, just a wink. Like someone was trying to tell him: it was going to be ok.