The Unsaid Promise
It’s odd, the things you remember when you’re watching someone die.
All the things they did, and all the things they said.
Everything that you ever told them comes to you in a quick second, like the waves in a tsunami.
‘Josh, I’m borrowing your charger!’
‘Hey, that’s why I said I’d buy you one yesterday!’
It’s been 5 days since Clementine died, and ever since, everything’s changed. Her guitar sits at the corner of her bed, collecting dust. Her phone, which had been buzzing nonstop as of lately, stays quiet.
‘I said, pass me the juice. You really need to stop using that phone 24 hours a day you know?’
‘I know.’
I walk towards the fridge and pull out my third beer of the day, and it’s not even noon yet. Shuffling back towards the bunk bed, I slide onto the floor, leaning onto the cold metal. I pop the bottle open, and take a large gulp.
‘Josh! Where did you go!? Why did you disappear like that?’
‘I went to the mart.’
‘Hmm… why?’
‘I wanted to buy you this necklace you’ve been wanting since forever…’
‘But… you were saving up that money for later!’
‘You’re more important.’
Walking towards the window, I draw the RV’s only curtain. A slow breeze runs through the trees and the wind chimes sway in the breeze, twinkling in the sharp sunlight. Holding onto the wall for support, I stumble back to the bed, picking up another beer from the bridge.
‘Josh! It’s Sunday, and you’re off work… So, stop chugging beer, and let’s go thrift-store shopping!’
‘Ugh, Clementine, I just wanna stay-in!’
‘Which is why you’re coming with me! I want to get some wind chimes for the RV.’
Another beer bottle joins the group at the foot of the bed. I lie flat on the bed, staring at the bottom of the upper bunk. Glow-in-the-dark stars hang from the wooden planks, no longer glowing, with the tough competition from the sun.
I groan, getting off the bed, and walk towards the window again. I pull the curtains shut and grab my phone from the side table. This time, I climb up the ladder and sit on the top bunk.
‘Weekly photo spam time!’
‘Clem, I’m busy with work… Can it wait a bit?’
‘Oh, come on, you workaholic! This calls for a break. Want some ice cream?’
‘Of course.’
I swipe through our photo album; every picture sparks a different memory. Photos for a different day, I think to myself, until a special photo catches my attention.
‘Clem, you’re gonna fall ill, get in here!’
‘How much more ‘ill’ can I get?’
‘Don’t joke about that…’
‘I’m not. Come on! You know how much I love the rain, don’t you? Dance with me!’
‘Clem… Alright I’m coming.’
‘Don’t get an umbrella! Where’s the fun in that?’
I throw the phone away and it bounces softly on the bed. Getting up to grab another beer, I pause in front of the fridge. Magnets from every place we visited stayed glued to the door.
She wouldn’t want me to stop.
Which is why I’m going.
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