The Jamie

There is no worst regret than the regret after death. Any other instance is tolerable, but the demise sets apart the devastation. 

I am, by no means, an easy person to approach, even more so to keep close. The greatest insecurity is that of feeling incapable of loving, and it is mine. In the failure after failure of relationships, there is none to blame than the wretched self, that though I'd done my best, there is a better I will always despise myself for not having done. I was one of the lucky ones, that there was a man who cares not for better, only for my best, and loved I, the unlovable, and until him, the unloving. 

I did not believe the voice on the other line. I hung up the moment who-even-was-that, a boyish voice, uttered the words and mercilessly ran them through my mind, all in the hopes that it would make sense in the least. Dangerous thoughts prevailed in my head like a virus, the immediate, deathly regret. I should not have, why did I, how could I, did I? 

A blur of a week passes. I could not stand to eat. I could not even stand to be. The guilt was gluttonous, eating at me until there was nothing left. As I rotted under the covers of my bed, I realized there was no place in this world for a cavity such as I, who could not love right. In the most movement since that day, I got up in this superficial vigor, threw on a cardigan, and trudged out the door, not bothering to lock it, looking to never come back in the way that mattered the most. My tired eyes took in the afternoon light to the bane of my aching head, and I step onto the sidewalk, on the lookout for accidents to become a victim of, a line I deserve to cross. Not long after, as I'm just about to turn the corner, a voice calls out my name, and my ears start ringing right after. Already unsteady enough on my feet, I turn slowly to see Jamie, sweet, playful, alive Jamie, at the front of my open door, smiling abashedly. The upward curve on his lips dissipate at the sight of me, pale, sad, barely standing on pavement. 

This was a god's retribution, I thought to myself, do not believe. At that, with my heart in my throat, I turn back, spots invading the ends of my vision, not a single sound registering still. In that slow shuffle of mine, he catches up to me in a moment, and grabs at my wrist. I panic and withdraw it with a sharp gasp, stumbling back and slamming against a lamp post. Through the pain, I shut my eyes tightly and cradled the wrist to my chest, willing the sense of feeling away as I slid down the pole. I could not dare to hope that the hold was real. At first, there is nothing, and I do not know for long, but then, I came to to a feather weight on my bare feet and peeled my eyes open. As I dreaded, the Jamie is kneeling in front of me, worry etched all over his young face, hands atop my feet.

"Miles? What..." He trails himself off as tears gathered in my wide eyes, a few making their escape, and I tried to control my breathing the way he taught me: five seconds in, seven hold, and eight out. I press the heels of my shaking palms to my eyes to both cease myself and lose sight of the apparition. I shake my head slowly, continuously, as if to say no, no, no without having to use my voice I left dusty on a shelf since that day. Again, for who knows how long, I did just that, but the Jamie was patient. I open my eyes once more and let my hands fall, exhausted to the core, and I see him staring still, seated legs crossed an arm away and fidgeting with his fingers, the most beautiful ghost I'd ever see. His back straightens a bit at my attention, but I pay no heed. At a snail's pace, I push myself up, supporting myself on the post, and he scrambles to stand too, moving to talk to me. I don't let him, already sliding my sore, dirty feet forward back to where I came from, plans ruined.

I make it back to my place which is left miraculously untouched. I did not care either way, so I enter without considering the door, hoping someone would break in and consider me collateral. Unfortunately, the Jamie was following and he shut it, secured it upon entering, like he'd done a thousand times before. I did not linger to revel in the action that so hurt my heart. I clumsily navigated through the darkness, only one destination in mind, which I soon arrive to. My knees give out a few steps before the bed. In a most pitiful way, I crawl to it, pulling myself up on it with difficulty and finally curling up on the duvet, cardigan still on me and feet still unclean. I hear the the Jamie's footstep minutely increase in volume, and he doesn't turn on any light, instead, sits at the edge of my bed, facing my back turned towards him. The knowledge of his supposed presence breaks the camel's back, and I start crying in earnest. "Miles," he whispers, and I turn to face him, still hiccuping, inching closer until I could nestle my nose on his misleadingly warm thigh and clutch at his shirt with a desperate hand. This was an illusion, I despaired. I am at my lowest, confiding in an illusion. "Don't cry, Miles." His hushed voice breaks, and though I'd not thought it possible, my shattered heart breaks even more to hear my loved one. For the final time, I do not know for how long, but I grieved until my body could no longer take on the weight of the world as it had done every day since he died.

I wake to the same blackness some time later, in the same position, to his fingers running through my hair. It must not have been so long if he is in no obvious discomfort, not that I could notice. He halts himself as I shift to look up at him. I could not, for the life of me, make out his face, yet I've not the energy to turn on the light and see the Jamie or not. 

"Miles." A murmur. His voice was both the bells and the sirens in my poor head.

"That's all you've said to me," I whisper. He huffs as if in his signature almost-smile, but retaliates in a thick, teary voice. "What else is there to say?" Silence ensues for a while. I'd have thought I was truly alone if not for his digits resuming where they had left off. 

"You are an honest man, Jamie," I continue, as if telling a secret, feeling out of mind for someone who's been hollowed out with a scoop. "Even if I were to conjure you in my immense grief, you would lay it down for me. Tell me, are my senses deceiving me?" 

Another bout of silence, longer than the previous. His fingers do not pause as he says, "No, Miles. They do not."

"Are you real?" A fragile question, one to make and break the stoic me.

"Yes." A delicate answer, as sincere as can be. "Would you sleep, Miles? Rest, and I will tell you in the morning."

"If I sleep now, I'll never see you again." He shushes me with a barrage of no's, cradles my stained cheeks in his hands. "That's not it, Miles." "Then convince me that you're alive. If I am to die, let it not be crazy."

"Die? Do you hear yourself?" His voice was distraught. I match his tone. "You think I can live without you? And live knowing my last words to you were harsh, meaningless retorts, none that relayed that you are everything to me?" His hands reach out for mine to soothe me, and, if I know him as well as I think I do, himself.

"The man that called you, as if in mourning. It was meant to be a petty prank, as all friends do when they see their friend hurting. He did not know you, only that you hurt me, inconsiderate of the fact that we hurt each other alike, that no relationship is all up and no down." The words burst out of him like a broken pipe, driven by the desperation to explain. "When I learnt of what he's done, I raised my voice. It was unbecoming, and I tried to reach you. You'll find your phone filled to the brim with my calls and my messages. I could not come until a week later, and I find your door unlocked, and you, ready to walk towards oncoming traffic." The quiet is loud right after, and I felt more compelled to believe him. I am pulled back solely by the depths of my remorse.

"If you are here, you will be here in morning," I tell him, a 'please' laced in misery. His answer is his putting his legs up on the bed beside me, shoes toed off, and holding me close, my head on his heart beating so that I held back my tears. I curl up closer, bracing myself for the truth to soon unveil.

Morning light then shines through the curtained windows. The birds outside sang here and there, Mother Nature's alarm. I wake, and in the same position. I tilt my head up where I lay, and I find myself facing the man I thought dead peaceful in his sleep. I put my head back to his heart I now truly know is beating and, so early on in the day, started to cry. The Jamie was Jamie all this time.

Jamie shifts, but keeps me in his solid arms, trapped in his warmth. He lets a kiss of comfort upon my forehead, and my soul is consoled. Some minutes after, talking must be done, there is no doubt. However, there, together, we were alive, and I reveled.