We got to the emergency room last night, Nat and I. The doctors pushed me aside to work on her.
I spent over five hours in the waiting room, hoping to hear that she was alive. That she would pull through.
But the news they gave me wasn’t what I’d been hoping for.
Natalie was in a coma. There was a chance she could wake up, but they couldn’t be sure because of the amount of oxycodone she’d taken.
They pumped her stomach as much as they could, but she’d been lying there for a few hours already.
The next twenty-four hours would be crucial. They would give the doctors a sense of whether she could fully recover.
When they let me see her, it took everything I had not to rush over and hug her tight. It took all my strength not to scream at the unfairness of it all.
I can’t remember when I finally fell asleep. I woke up to a nurse checking on Nat.
At some point last night, I decided I had to go home. I had to talk to them, for Natalie’s sake.
I waited until the doctor came in and told me there were no new updates.
There were no changes yet, and I left my phone number with him, making him promise to call me right away if anything changed.
I took a cab home to get my car. I didn’t even step foot in our apartment to shower or change my clothes. I paid the cab driver and ran straight to my car.
I started the car and turned on the air conditioner as I headed for the highway.
Sitting cross-legged, plucking grass and scattering it around, I look at the marble headstone in front of me—a beautiful monument for lives cut short.
Natalie’s parents are buried side by side. They were always together in life, so it’s only fitting they stay that way forever.
I want to tell them how much I miss them, how much I wish things had been different that night.
I want them to know how hard I tried to take care of Nat. That I didn’t want this for her, and I hope they’re with her now. Watching over her, holding her.
But I don’t.
I don’t say a word.
My mind has been a mess these past few days. I haven’t changed my clothes since the day I found Natalie unconscious. I thought I was a mess before.
I was so, so wrong.
Living without Natalie has pushed me over the edge. I never thought I’d find myself here.
I haven’t visited this cemetery since the day they were lowered into the ground. The guilt has been too much. I felt unworthy to visit them, to talk to them.
And here I am, still feeling unworthy after everything that’s happened.
Tears of sadness silently roll down my face, choking my voice.
I’m here to beg. To plead.
“Please. Just protect her,” I whisper into the air, my voice shaking.
I sit quietly on the slightly damp grass for a while longer, unable to say anything else. Remembering the past. A long-ago, almost forgotten, past.
When life was good.
When life wasn’t full of pain and emptiness. It was so much easier then. I’d give anything to have those days back.
Natalie was never sad. She didn’t hide anything from me then.
Her feelings were always clear on her face, her heart on her sleeve for everyone to see. Her eyes had a glow that outshone any star in the sky.
That night took away her brightness. My dad stole it from her.
Our parents had their own homes, but our families were always close. They were friends long before we were born.
Our dads grew up together and, just like Natalie and I, they went to college together. That’s where they met our moms.
Both our dads became lawyers, which makes the accident even more ironic. They lived by the law and then broke it. They built their own law firm from scratch.
My mom had her own interior design business, based in our home. Natalie’s mom was a high school guidance counselor.
Our parents happened to get pregnant at the same time, so Natalie and I were born just months apart. We were raised as one big family. Our lives were always intertwined.
Remembering the good times only makes my current life seem more bleak.
I look at the headstone one last time, etching it into my memory because I won’t be visiting for a while. I silently beg one last time for them to protect Natalie.
I stand up, brush off the bits of grass on my pants, and walk over to my car. I take my cell phone from the console between the seats.
I’ve been here for thirty minutes. I drove four hours to stay for just thirty minutes. I hope it makes a difference.
I start the car and drive off, hoping to get home before it gets dark. My parents still live here but I’m not visiting them. I haven’t since Nat and I left for college.
My mom calls once in a while and I always answer. Our conversations are always awkward. It’s like she wants to say something but always stops herself.
I haven’t told them about Natalie yet. I put off seeing them and hit the highway back to Boston.
Five hours later, thanks to a traffic jam, I pull into the parking lot of our apartment complex.
I’m physically and emotionally drained. All I want is to sleep, but I know I’ll just end up lying in Nat’s bed, unable to sleep.
I walk into our apartment, kick off my shoes and toss them by the door, drop my keys, and head to her room. I don’t bother changing into pajamas. I don’t have the energy.
I yank back Nat’s covers and flop onto her bed. Wrapping myself up in her comforter, I shut my eyes and send up a silent prayer for Natalie. I pray for everything to turn out okay. For this nightmare to finally be over.
