I Still Know Your Voice

This one is for you, B.

The night before you moved, I stayed over your house.  Well, it wasn’t your house, it was your mother’s boyfriend’s house; the man who promised your mom a job, a car and a loving husband when you moved from West Virginia to escape your stalking abusive father, and gave her none of those.  It was made of stone and creaky wood, located in the middle of nowhere.  You said that you did some research in the library and discovered that it used to be a plantation master's house, and found a map that explained where a slave hung himself from a large tree, past the brick barn and near the woods.

After introductions with your mom and little brother were made, we got bored.  We went outside and jumped the fence into your neighbor’s pasture.  Being in the middle of nowhere, it was pitch black and the sky was dark blue with stars that would have startled a New Yorker.  It was slightly chilly but we couldn’t have asked for a better night.  Fireflies were everywhere, as if the air gave birth to them.  The only noises we heard were crickets, frogs, and the sheep bleating like they were having a party.  We walked up a hill and you pointed to the tree where the slave supposedly hung himself.  I told you that it was really creepy, but I wasn’t frightened at all.  I felt so alive that it was okay if a ghost met us.  The dead couldn’t hurt us.  You told me in a courageous tone that if it did, you wouldn’t let it and you’d protect me.  I laughed. 

We chased sheep through the meadow, screaming “Come here fluff ball!”  We never caught one, but we were close.  After being confined to a desk, a car, a bed, a schedule, a routine, for so long, running as fast as I could and hollering at the top of my lungs sent more adrenaline through me than a rollercoaster.  I remember the sound of the dirt path beneath me and the sheep going berserk over the two crazy girls trying to fluff their fur.  I remember how my asthma surprisingly wasn’t acting up, and the sound of your laughter; it was beautiful.  After all the sin you’ve seen and tragedies you’ve experienced, you still had this innocent giggle.  If I didn’t know you were there, I’d have thought I was hearing a twelve year old girl having the time of her life.  I wish you always laughed like that, as if for once, every need was met; as if every ridiculous insecurity of yours was completely blown out of the water by an unbiast opinion that came from a pair of eyes that knew you better than anyone else. 

We went back inside to your tiny room.  We turned off the lights and lit every candle that you had, hoping we didn’t set the ancient wood on fire.  You turned on your fancy stereo that looked out of place in your house.  We danced around and head banged and jumped up and down like we were at a punk rock concert until your mom called us downstairs to help her pack.  When we were done, we sat on the couch with your little brother, Nick, and talked about school and West Virginia—and that’s when I named Phlegm.  Phlegm is the disgusting mucus in your mouth that you hack on when you’re sick.  He had to have a name because you guys but quotation marks around “father,” and phlegm was the first nasty insult I thought of.  Then you got out your guitar and started playing and singing whatever you felt like.  I laid my head on your knee and Nick, who had warmed up to me like a puppy from a dog pound, leaned on me.  Your voice is American idol worthy, and your music was a fairy-like melody.  Your lyrics came out of your mouth as they came to you, and they came from inside you.  My vision was blurry, so I close my eyes, but in that moment—you were the most beautiful person in the world. 

When we went back upstairs, you were on the phone with your boyfriend, who I didn’t like at all.  I got bored of your conversation, so I went into your mom’s room talk to her and Nick.  I fell asleep on her bed listening to her coo the teenage boy in a motherly sweet voice that she must have picked up from movies.  Where was she when you were left in the custody of Phlegm two years ago?

When I woke up around two A.M., Nick wasn’t there.  I walked into your bedroom to find you sitting on your mattress-bed, covering yourself up with a white sheet.  I remember my throat was hurting and my allergies were trying to make my head explode, but I was surprisingly awake.  I made a nest out of blankets on the floor, and for an hour we talked about school and music and how ridiculous life is for putting us through this craziness and for taking us to these places that we will never get a chance to call home, as if we’d want to. 

But your voice was a soft and sweet melody that I could listen to forever.  I wanted you in my life forever, that I’d have adopted you if I were of age.

Months later, you told me that our last and only night together, was the best night of your life.  You didn't need a boy to make you whole or drugs to make you sane-you had me.  A friend who truly cared for you, who accepted everything you told her and thought of you all the better for surviving it all.