Moving On

“Where’s the last box?”

“I… I already thew it away.”

Kelsey squinted at me. “Nyla, where’s the last box.”

I opened my mouth, ready to lie again, then sighed. “It’s under my bed.” Lying wouldn’t get us anywhere but back to the beginning.

“I’ll go get it.”

Kelsey disappeared around the corner, and I slumped onto the couch. The last box, I thought. The last box of Oliver’s things. I forced a fresh wave of tears down as I reminded myself that this was not a form of erasing him, but instead a physical display of moving on. I was giving myself a chance to start fresh, starting with removing my dead boyfriend’s things from my apartment.

I glanced at the photo on the table beside the couch, the only picture of him I’d decided to keep. In it, he was smiling at me as I screamed at the top of my lungs, terrified of the roller coaster we were riding. His auburn hair was wild in the wind, while my black frizz of hair seemed to barely move.

I wiped a rogue tear from my cheek and turned to see Kelsey standing over me. She held the last cardboard box — marked “misc.” — in her hands and stared down at me with the saddest expression I’d ever seen her wear.

“Ready?” she asked, balancing the box on her hip and lending her other hand to me.

I nodded and took her hand. “Ready.”

Together, we took the stairs down to the first floor of my apartment building, then stepped through the door, out of the lobby. We were immediately assaulted with the typical noises of Manhattan: car horns and angry people and happy people, going on as if my life hadn’t just been shattered into a thousand pieces.

We slipped into an alleyway with a Dumpster, where we’d disposed of the previous boxes, one by one. Kelsey and I stopped in front of the large green bin and did nothing but stare at it for a few moments.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Kelsey asked for the tenth time in the past hour.

I nodded weakly, eyeing the box in her hands. “Do I really have a choice?”

“Of course, Nyla. You shouldn’t do this until you’re absolutely ready.”

“But it’s been five months,” I sighed. “Five months since brain cancer took Oliver away from me. Five months of staring at his stuff, hoping there was somehow still a part of him — or his essence — lingering in his things. I just… I can’t do it anymore,” I sobbed, my voice quivering. I looked up at my best friend, forcing a small smile. “Besides, if I don’t do this now, I don’t think I ever will.”

Kelsey handed the final box to me. “I understand. Or, well, I don’t — I can’t — but I understand what you’re saying.” She nodded at the box in my hand. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I took a deep breath and raised the box above the open top of the Dumpster. “Okay.” I counted to three in my head, preparing myself to drop the box. “Here I go.” I spread my fingers —

My hands wouldn’t let go.

Kelsey smiled encouragingly, but the box still didn’t fall.

I’m not ready to say goodbye, I thought, then shook off the idea. No. I am ready. I am. I smiled, and my mind immediately flashed back to one bad night in the hospital when Oliver, already bald and losing weight, begged me to stay by his side.

Nope, still not.

“Are we sure this is a trash box?” I asked Kelsey, my voice rising an octave. “How do we know this isn’t a donate one?”

“We gave away all of the donate ones yesterday, remember?” She stepped forward to rub circles on my back.

I nodded. “Okay. All right. I can do this,” I murmured. I counted to three again, then spread my hands —

“Can I look through it one last time?”

Kelsey grinned, shaking her head. “It’s your decision, not mine.”

I quickly sat on the ground in the alley, setting the box on my lap. I opened the flaps and took out the first thing I saw: one of Oliver’s old toothbrushes. I grinned at its mangled bristles and fingered the peeling rubber before gently setting it aside.

Next, I took out a course completion certificate. Looking closer, I realized it was a cooking class he’d taken a few years ago. One we’d taken together. I faintly remembered Oliver’s slim fingers slipping, the blood spilling all over our shared cutting board. He’d yelled for a medic, like we were on some TV show, making me laugh despite my shock at seeing the blood.

I blinked back a few tears and reached for the next item in the box, squished between a broken viedo game console and a punctured basketball. Slowly, I brought a small, cracked cell phone into the light. This time, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

Kelsey crouched beside me. “Was that his phone?” she asked softly.

I nodded, sniffling. Tentatively, I pressed the power button, and the device miraculously brightened. “I thought I’d lost it,” I gasped. I swiped to unlock it, then clicked into the camera roll, figuring scrolling through his pictures was the best way to use whatever charge the phone had left.

An ambulance whizzed by us on the street, sirens blaring, but I barely noticed. Instead, I was focused on the most recent picture he’d taken, dated a year and a half ago. In the selfie, I was passed out on the couch in the background, while Oliver grinned evilly from the bottom corner of the screen.

I released an involuntary sob, and Kelsey leaned forward to hug me.

“I remember that night,” I rasped, my eyes trained on the screen. “Oliver had just taken me ice skating, despite my pleas for him to stay home and rest. He’d… he’d just gotten sick when this was taken.”

“I’m… I don’t even know what to say,” Kelsey said, by way of apologizing.

After a few moments, I responded with: “Don’t say anything. Just be there for me, and that’s enough.” I carefully packed the toothbrush and the certificate back into the box and closed the flaps. Tucking the cell phone into my back pocket, I stood before the Dumpster. Kelsey handed me the box and asked if I was ready for the eleventh time, and this time, I wasn’t lying when I said I was. I missed Oliver — I knew I always would — but it was time to move on. As our ice skating adventure had proven, his first interest was always making sure I was happy. If he could see me now, I was sure he’d wouldn’t want me crying over him; he’d want me to live my best life and remember our good times, not the bad.

So, with one final goodbye to the toothbrush and the certificate and the other various items in the box, I spread my hands and held my breath until I heard the clunk at the bottom of the Dumpster that meant I’d finally let Oliver go.

I’d finally moved on.

The walk back up to my apartment took a million years.

I kept second-guessing myself, wondering if I should go back to the Dumpster and fish the box back out. I feared I'd gotten rid of it too soon, and now I'd never heal properly.

"He seems like such a great guy, Nyla," Kelsey was saying from beside me in the stairwell. "I really wish I could have met him."

"Yeah," I whispered. "I wish you could have, too."

Back in my apartment, I immediately slumped onto my couch, desperately hoping I'd done the right thing.

Kelsey noticed the photo beside the couch and picked it up to examine it. "He was cute," she observed.

"Really cute."

"Like, he could have been a model cute."

"He could have been anything," I added, rolling off the couch onto the floor. "But he was just a college student."

Kelsey lied down beside me. "No, he was more than that. He was... he was a boyfriend — a great one, I hear — he was a son, a friend, an amateur chef..." She turned her head to look at me. "He was all of those, Nyla."

I shook my head, ignoring the tears streaming freely down my face. "But he could have been more."

"We all could be more. You could be more, I could be more... but it doesn't matter. What matters is who we are now." Kelsey scrunched up her nose, thinking. "If you keep worrying about who you could be, you won't actually... well, you'll never become anything. But if you live in the present and appreciate who you are, you can accept yourself and actually grow to be... more."

I chuckled softly. "When did you become so wise?" I asked.

She grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "When you started needing me."

"I've always needed you."

"You know what I mean."

Exhausted from crying, thinking, and "moving on," I allowed my eyes to flutter close. Kelsey continued talking next to me, and I soon found myself drifting off to the sound of her voice.

A few hours later, I woke to find myself alone in my apartment. Kelsey was gone, but a yellow Post-it lay on the floor in her spot.

So, so sorry to leave like this, it read, but I really have to get back home. You know, seven hour drive and all. I'll call you when I get home, promise. ~K

I stood and carefully set the note beside the picture of Oliver and me. Still groggy from my nap, I shuffled into my bedroom and collapsed into my bed, jeans and all. I'd barely pulled the covers up to my chin, already missing my best friend, when sleep reclaimed me.

“Don’t let go of me,” I begged.

“I won’t. I won’t, okay? I promise,” Oliver laughed as I clutched his arm for dear life.

“If you let go, I will kick you with my skates. I swear, I’ll do it.”

“I believe you.” Oliver practically dragged me around the rink, careful to stay close to the edge so I could grab the rail if I needed to.

“How are you… How is this so natural for you?”

“I took skating lessons as a kid. I guess there are some things you never forget,” he said, smiling down at me.

“And some people you never forget, too.” I matched his grin.

“I hope I’m included in that. You wouldn’t dare forget me, would you, Nyla?”

“Never.” I squeezed his arm. “I’ll never forget you, Oliver.”

I woke from my dream, panting and sweating. I pulled back my sheets and swung my legs over the bed, ready to open my window and attempt to fall back asleep to the sounds of the city. But, no. I desperately needed to talk to someone, to hear someone else’s voice.

Oliver’s voice had haunted me for long enough.

I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and scrolled through my contacts. Who can I call? I needed someone who could relate to my grief for Oliver, but no one was coming to mind. He wasn’t close to any family members, so I couldn’t call any of them. My parents had never been good sympathizers; they wouldn’t console me the way I needed them to. I’d already bothered Kelsey enough over the past few days; she deserved to rest.

Giving up, I tossed my phone back onto my bedside table and started toward my window, but something else caught my eye. I’d left Oliver’s phone on my windowsill to charge, and it dimly glowed there, calling out to me.

I sat on the floor in front of my window and opened up to his camera roll again. I scrolled through until I found the video I faintly remembered him filming.

“Wait, I have to start the video.” The camera view jostled, then finally settled on me, sitting at the kitchen table with a lopsided blue cake before me.

“Is the button red?” I asked, grinning and shaking my head.

“Oh. Yeah, it is. Okay, you can start now.” The sound of Oliver’s voice made me think back to my dream, but I forced myself to stay in the present.

I squeezed my eyes shut, then blew out the candles one by one. Oliver cheered from behind the camera, then zoomed in on my nostrils.

“What did you wish for?”

“For you to not ask what I wished for,” I joked, my left eyebrow now visible. “Obviously, it didn’t come true.”

“Wow. What a waste of a wish.” Now Oliver zoomed out, and you could see my entire face again.

“I’m kidding. I wished that you didn’t accidentally switch the salt and sugar in my cake again!”

“No promises on that one,” he replied, and we laughed as the video faded to black.

I set his phone back on the sill, careful not to damage it more than it already was. I dropped my head into my hands, praying that my tears wouldn’t make another appearance today, but unfortunately, my eyes had other plans.

I raised my head after a few moments and stared out of my window. I watched miniature cars go by below me, spending a second wondering where each one was going, as Oliver and I used to. I opened my window, letting in the nightly sounds of the Big Apple.

For a moment, I let myself imagine Oliver was beside me, his arm slung around my shoulders. Then I shook off the thought, realizing that pretending he was here with me wasn’t a very efficient way to help me move on. I needed to open my mind to new possibilities, not cling to old habits.

“I’ll never forget you, Oliver.”

The words echoed in my head as I cried. I’d actually said them, the night of the photo on Oliver’s phone. I didn’t know at the time, but that one conversation would replay in my dreams for months to come.

“I’ll never forget you, Oliver,” I whispered out loud. I gazed down at the pinpricks of light in the beautiful city, wondering how, surrounded by over eight million people, I could feel so lonely.

I turned my gaze onto the navy sky above me. A few helicopters flew by, flashing their bright red and white lights through the darkness. My tears blurred my vision, and for a moment, the lights resembled shooting stars, streaking through the atmosphere.

“I miss you,” I whispered to one of the “stars.” “I miss you every day. You were my light, my everything, and now, you’re… now, you’re gone.” I wiped away the tears. “But you’re not really, are you? You’re still here with me. I know it. You’ll always be here with me. Won’t you?”

No response. But yet, somehow, I knew Oliver had heard me.

“I’m trying to move on,” I continued. “I want to try to get my life back together, and soon. I made some progress with that this week by moving your things from the apartment. All I kept was your phone.” I glanced at the cracked cell on the sill beside me. “Maybe I’ll try to get a new roommate, finish up school. Maybe I’ll even stop ordering takeout every night and pull out my old cookbooks! But please, just know I’m not trying to forget you. I’ll — I’ll never forget you, Oliver.” I smiled up at the sky.

“No, I’ll never forget you.”