Chapter Text
My Hope.
My demanding, stubborn, relentless, outspoken, and badass goalkeeper.
My passionate, dorky, adventurous, intelligent, and loving best friend.
My better half.
The house starts to flood with guests, many of whom I do not recognize but claim to have known her. The buzzing of chatter soon fades into white noise and I quickly realize this would be a long few hours. The service was the easy part. I was left alone with my thoughts. But now there’s this. I’m expected to mingle with those who think it’s alright to rudely barge in on me and my thoughts.
The potent aroma of the fresh flowers make my head spin. I begin to count the arrangements and stop myself when I get to ten. I never wanted all these, but everyone else insisted. It’s spring, they said. New beginnings. Plus, the flowers would be fresh. So full of life.
Just like she was.
My Hope.
Gone.
The spark of life in her eyes just suddenly gone.
Just like that.
When she relapsed just six months ago, they started to prepare us. They explained how aggressive it was and how it would be no more than a year. How there really wasn’t anything else they could. I remember fighting them, including her. I told them over and over again how they were all giving up too soon- how they weren’t even allowing time for a miracle. I stayed true to my faith and prayed every day for a miracle.
A miracle that never came.
And I’m not sure what to think of that. How could God, if there even is one, be so cruel? I don’t know if I still believe. I want to. But I also don’t want to be standing here alone, in a black dress I swear I will never wear again, contrasted against all the vibrant colors of these dreadful flowers.
But I digress.
We had these last six months together. We knew this day would come. And yet no matter how many people prepared us for this, I still believe she was taken away from me, from our family, in the blink of an eye.
I shake hands with the numerous people in front of me, mindlessly thanking them for their time and thoughts. I actually think I’m doing better than expected until I actually start listening to what people are saying.
Many of them begin to tell me I’m lucky.
I’m lucky I had the time to prepare myself- “At least this wasn’t a tragic accident and you lost her without warning,” they’d say.
Honestly, I think this was worse.
I watched her deteriorate before my own eyes. I watched how her runs turned into walks and how her walks turned into laying on the couch. It soon became a chore for her to get out of bed and days would go by where she’d only awake from her exhaustion to smile at me.
I was there through it all and there was nothing I could do to ease her pain. Her suffering. I may have had her for an extra six months, but she had already begun to fade.
But people still continue to tell me how lucky I am to have had that extra time.
And I want to scream.
How dare people tell me that? How could they say I’m lucky?
Nothing about this is lucky. Nothing about this is good.
She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t want to go. She had so much living left to do. And that’s what kills me the most.
Without her, I feel nothing.
I don’t know how to live without her.
I don’t know how to do this.
I don’t know what to do.
I feel myself fading into nothing.
But a sudden bout of nausea hits me, forcing me to remember that I am something. I feel like nothing and I’m lacking of life, but I’m still here. I can’t tell if it’s the strong scent of those god awful flowers or if it’s the thought of doing life without her that is making me want to hurl, but nevertheless, I make my way to the upstairs bathroom- not the nearest one, but the one farthest away from people.
My head is pounding and my breathing is heavy. I kneel in front of the toilet, gripping it like it is the only thing that has the power to bring me peace at the moment. I work myself up into a fit of hyperventilating, realizing that the nausea was just a figment of my imagination.
I hear the sound of a door gently latch as it is closed and I look up.
“Oh, Kell…”
I pull my knees closer to my chest and lean my head against the bathroom wall. Tears are streaming freely down my face as I let my older friend embrace me. There weren’t many people I could stand being in a room with at the moment, but I know that my former teammate is the only one to come close to what I am feeling now.
She was her best friend.
We sit in silence together until Carli stands up, offering me a hand. She whispers,
“Come on, I need to show you something.”
I follow her into the upstairs living room and obediently listen as she tells me to take a seat on the couch. I watch as Carli bends down in front of the television, pushing a few buttons here and there. She then hands me the remote.
“Press play.”
I look up at my friend from New Jersey, completely dumbfounded, but do what I was told. The television stutters before a video begins to play.
And I freeze.
I didn’t think I would ever see her again.
I genuinely feel the machinery of each and every one of my cells come to a halt. My blood stops pumping through my arteries and veins, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
There she was.
Shifting on a wooden stool, twirling her locks of brown hair, and fixing her favorite color block sweater. She’s really just sitting there, thinking about something and completely unaware that she is being filmed.
I feel like I could just reach my hand out and touch her.
I can feel emotion overwhelm me and the tears beginning to return, so I start to prepare myself. I bring myself back to reality. And for a split second, it starts to work. I convince myself that I’m ready.
But then Hope looks up, straight into the eye of the camera.
Like she was looking straight at me.
For me.
And suddenly, I’m not ready. I thought I might be, but I’m really not.
I realize that I was never ready.
Never ready to fall for her.
Never ready to start a family with her.
Never ready to lose her.
Never ready to see her again.
Hope continues to stare straight at the camera before the corners of her mouth turn upward into a smile that is so big that I swear it may not fit into the frame of the video.
I realize again that I am not ready.
Even though this is just a mere video recording of her, and that she isn't physically in front of me, I still feel my heart beat irregularly.
I am not ready to hear her voice.
But I am most definitely not ready to hear her laugh again.