Stephen Smiled At Me

Stephen Smiled At Me

Lexi Gail Cummings, 7/27/20

Stephen- I met him my sophomore year of college. I was looking for someone to move off campus with when his name came up and so we met for coffee one evening on a Friday. I wasn't sure how I felt about having a guy as a roommate, but any hesitations I had instantly melted away once he sat down across from me. His smile was one of those sweet and sad kinds, his eyes were the brightest green I'd ever known and streaked with orange speckles. His hair was soft and curly, dark brown. We had the same energy and conversation came so easily, it felt like we'd known each other for years within a few minutes. It turns out he had grown up three hours away from me; I lived in Tampa while he lived in St. Augustine right on the other coast of Florida. I marveled at how small the world really was, at how we both ended up moving across the country to Boston chasing after the dream of making music for a living. He played the piano like a prodigy and wrote poetry like no one’s business. And, while he was modest about it, his voice was beautiful. It sounded shy much like him but was smooth and deep with an air of confidence that made it mesmerizing. He could hear every harmony in the spectrum and his tone greatly complimented mine, as I had a strong lower register. We became instant best friends and got a two-bedroom apartment by the end of that fall semester together. 

We played gigs wherever we could get in and wrote countless songs in our living room. I remember many nights accompanied by warm Christmas lights and candles where we had out a guitar and a keyboard, creating beauty without any expectations. I never got used to his mind; he surprised me constantly with his intricacy and depth. He was like an 80-year-old man in the body of a 20-year-old college kid. We were both kids, even though we had seen a lot of life already in that short time. I was still in denial about a lot of the things I’d experienced growing up, but Stephen was never able to run from his demons like I could.

I noticed him slipping away slowly; he used to wake up at 6am like clockwork every morning. He loved to feel the morning air and would make sure to experience it at all costs, even if we were up until 3am the previous night. He refused to miss the soft peace of a fresh new day, until suddenly he stopped caring. It pushed back to 8am and then to 10am, eventually getting to the point that he would sleep through entire days and miss all of his classes. I fought him for a while; I would go into his room and try to coax him out of bed. Sometimes with hot tea or with eggs and bacon. Once in a while, it worked perfectly. But other times? Nothing. I remember one day he fought me all morning and so I gave up and went about my day. When I got back around 6 that evening, I went in to check on him. I brushed the hair off of his forehead and left my hand there for a moment, asking him if he was alright. He put his hand on top of mine and used the other to pull me into his bed with him. “What’s going on?” I asked him. “Shh. Just stay here for a while.” He said. And so, I did. I laid next to him for a long while and held him. I didn’t really know what was wrong, but I knew this wasn’t normal. He wasn’t the type to hug you even if he knew you well, let alone to want someone next to him while he slept. 

I don’t know what it was about that night, I think it was a combination of things. But I started to feel something new towards him that I didn’t expect. Looking back now, I think my fear of losing him made me fall in love with him. I think that deep down, I didn’t know how else to save him. I thought that maybe if we loved each other, he would keep fighting. Of course, I didn’t say a word to him about how I felt. We did make a habit of sleeping in the same bed after that every so often. I would check in whenever I got home to see if he needed me, and I would stay in his room for the night if so. My friends and family started to notice something was off with me after a few months of this. They could tell I was tired, easily agitated. I acted as though they were crazy and nothing was wrong, I never told them what was going on. I don’t think I had admitted to myself that he was in danger or that it was affecting me, I barely even knew I loved him. I sat on the surface of my mind trying to survive, not even realizing that that’s what I was doing.

I asked Stephen to consider counseling, medication, just about anything at that point. He failed almost every class that next fall semester because he never showed up, but he kept saying he was fine and refused to get help. Nothing was working and I didn’t know what to do, so I started trying to treat him as though nothing had ever changed. I didn’t know who to tell, I didn’t know if it was my right to tell. I decided to take on the responsibility of Stephen completely by myself. 

I would check in on him throughout the days when I was gone just to make sure he would answer me, that he hadn’t done anything self-destructive. We continued to write songs, to play shows around our city. Once in a while, he would bring a girl to the apartment and my blood pressure would boil. I decided it was time for me to get over him and move on, so I invited over a boy named Bryan from one of my classes to “study” for our music theory test. I had never witnessed Stephen being such an ass before as I did that night, constantly commenting on our conversation and proving his superior music knowledge every time Bryan spoke a word. Needless to say, he didn’t come back again. “What the hell, Stephen?” I said once Bryan had closed the door on his way out. “He isn’t your type, I did you a favor!” he replied, seeming quite satisfied with himself. “You wouldn’t know my type if it slapped you in the face.” I said. “Oh really? Then let me prove myself here and if I get anything wrong, I’ll make your favorite breakfast in the morning.” I was entertained and he knew I loved his cooking, so I figured it was an easy bet. “Sure, go ahead and tell me what you think I am looking for.” I said. He chuckled softly and smiled at the ground just before he looked up at me, straight into my eyes. “You want someone who cares about the details, who knows how your mind works and appreciates it. You want someone to sing with you and dance with you, you want someone who is smarter than you are.” I laughed as he continued, “You refuse to date anyone under 6’ tall, anyone without broad shoulders.” He said as he started walking closer, towering over me as usual; standing at 6’3 to my 5’7. “You like dark hair and light eyes. And most of all, you want someone who is madly and fully in love with you.” At this point, he was inches from my face and I was looking up into his gaze. His voice was soft, almost in a whisper. “You are pretty close, but still missing one, crucial detail.” I replied slowly. “What’s that?” he said. “Their lips, they have to compliment mine. Or else it will never work.” I replied. He put his hand behind my neck and slowly pulled me towards him, kissing me softly at first. He stopped for a moment to look at me, almost as if asking my permission to keep going. And then there was no more holding back. Needless to say, I was the one making breakfast the next morning.

Things got better after that for a while, I went on to graduate college and he switched to a business major, finishing his degree online. We got engaged, bought a house in Nashville, and started planning our wedding. I got a publishing deal and began writing full time, he signed a record deal with a small indie label. He snapped in and out of depressive states over the years. By our third wedding anniversary, we decided to take a trip back to Boston where we first met. It was a Friday when we went back to the coffee shop where we had spoken for the first time. I could tell he was slipping away again, back into one of his darker seasons. I’d hoped that reminding him of our first moments together would refresh his mind, that it’d be a good change of scenery for a few days. We talked for hours, smiling and laughing about all of the silly things we’d been through over the years. It was funny how fast life had gone by, how those days in our tiny apartment had grown so far into the past. We eventually got back to our hotel for the evening and got ready for bed. He crawled in, putting his arms around me and pulling me as close to him as he possibly could. “I love you. I love you so, so much. You saved my life back when we met and you’ve never given up on me, even when I wanted you to. I’ll never be able to thank you for the joy I’ve known since.” I kissed him and told him I loved him, that he was more than worth it. Because he was, he was worth it. The next morning, I woke up to him trying to sneak out the door and I asked where he was going. He told me he was going to get us breakfast and that he’d be back, hesitating for a moment before he left. I never saw him again. When they couldn’t find him after a few days, I returned to our home in Nashville only to find a letter he’d left for me before our trip to Boston. It was his goodbye. 

They never did find him, but his letter strongly indicated suicide. A year or so later, they discovered a body near the coast of St. Augustine by his childhood home. They suspected the remains had been there for a while before being discovered. There was next to nothing left of them, but they still believed them to be his. 

My mind searched for years, scouring over every detail of our lives together. Where he could’ve gone, why he left in the way he did, what I could have done to stop him.

Ten years went by in what felt like a blink. The pain never dulled and I never found a love that could compare to Stephen, so I stayed mostly by myself. My family and friends often encouraged me to keep trying, but I was angry. I couldn’t let go and I couldn’t move on. In all truth, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to hold Stephen, I wanted to laugh with him again and see his eyes sparkle in the sunlight. I wanted to hear his thoughts on the world, I wanted to hear him sing again. I wanted him to hold me and dance us around the patio of our home to old country classics like we’d done so many times before. 

I finally went back to Boston, a place that had come to both give and take away the greatest joy of my life. It was pouring rain and it was a Friday, on the day we had met over a decade before. I went to our coffee shop alone and left when it closed for the night, as the storm seemed to lighten up. I started walking around our old college and thinking about how things had changed when it started to rain again, but I didn’t care. I eventually sat on a bench that was near the edge of campus and stared at the streetlight, watching it turn from green to yellow to red over and over again as it down poured. The street was completely empty and dimly lit, not a single car passed by for what seemed like ages. I suddenly noticed a shadowy figure walking in the distance, nearing the street across from me slowly. I didn’t think much of it at first, but then they got closer. The figure was tall, broad. As it neared, I could tell it was a man. My fight or flight instincts quickly turned on and so I arched forward in my seat, making sure to hold my car keys in between the fingers on my right hand. I was ready to run until he got closer, to the point that I could see a mop of dark hair on his head. He looked up from the ground and I suddenly felt every particle in my being freeze over, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. With a hollow face and sunken eyes, Stephen smiled at me.