The 3 A.M. Lies

"Zach... Hey... Wake up."

A soft voice pulls me from sleep. A voice I know. A voice of someone I’ve wanted to see for a long time.

"Joyce?" My eyes snap open, adjusting in the dim glow from the streetlight outside my window. She’s standing at the foot of my bed, as beautiful as I remember her.

For a second, I just stare. Joyce has never been to my house, let alone my room. In high school, we barely talked. She was always surrounded by friends, and I was always busy with games and training. The moment we were alone, I was too angry to talk reasonably after losing a game. The moment we were alone, she was busy studying, she hushed me and told me to leave the library, saying that I messed up her focus. After graduation last year, she went to college in Grooveswood, and that was it. We haven’t seen each other since.

"How did you—” I shake my head. I don’t know how she found where I live. I don’t know how she got in. I don’t care. Because I’d be lying to say I’m not happy she’s here. But questions are nagging at the back of my mind anyway. “What are you doing here? What time is it?” I keep my voice low so I don’t wake my parents.

“It’s 3 or 4 A.M.… I don't know.” She smiles at the way I scramble to straighten my wrinkled shirt. Her smile is perfect, but her breath doesn’t seem to cloud in the cool air drifting from my open window.

“I thought you wouldn’t get here from Groveswood for another… day? Were you already on your way when I called?”

She shakes her head, still smiling. “I couldn’t wait to see you,” she whispers.

Heat rises in my face. Joyce doesn’t usually talk like that. But I’m not complaining. God, I like it. I like it because I feel the same way, yet only yesterday I decided that I will tell her.

“Didn’t you call me and ask to see me?” she asks, her dark eyes locked on mine.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. You must be busy with college and all. I should’ve come to Groveswood instead of making you drive here. It’s too danger—”

“I finished my last exam,” she says, cutting me off gently. “I was coming home anyway. For the semester break, and…” Her eyes fix on me.

“Your birthday?” I grin.

“For you.”

That hits different. Has she liked me this whole time? And I’ve been holding back like an idiot?

I’ve got this whole thing planned for her birthday—camping by the creek she loves, just us, no distractions. I want to tell her how I feel out there, under the stars, where the moment will be perfect. But she’s here now. Do I tell her?

“Zach?” Her sweet voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Why did you call me?” She asks, inching closer. My heart beats harder with every step she takes, but the air seems to cool around her.

“I have something to tell you,” I confess. My hand can’t help but reach her, pulling her to sit next to me on the bed. The mattress doesn’t shift as much as I expect.

“Yes. You said that on the phone. But why now?” Her brow furrows slightly. “Are you… alright?”

Her question catches me off guard. I wonder if she knows what I want to say to her. I wonder if she knows why I decided to call her yesterday of all time.

“I’m fine, Joyce,” I lie. “I’ll tell you everything, but can you wait?”

“Wait?” She tilts her head.

“Wait for your birthday for me to tell you.”

“That’s in three days.”

“I know.” I laugh softly. “Impatient much?”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

Her smile does something to me. It warms me, soothes all the pain in my body. I’ve always known she was beautiful, but right now she’s breathtaking.

She’s close now. Too close for me to think straight. Close enough that all I can think about is her lips. My own breath catches.

Neither of us moves for a moment. Then she kisses me.

The kiss is gentle at first. Then deeper. Her hand cups my face, my fingers curl in her hair, but her skin is colder than I expected, as if she’s been standing outside all night. I want to ask, but every thought I had about waiting, about holding back, disappears. I just want to hold her.

And then—

She starts to fade.

Her hand slips from my cheek. Her face blurs, like someone’s wiping it away.

“Joyce—”

I jolt awake. My room is empty. The faint vibration of the heater is the only sound. My sheets are twisted around me, damp with sweat.

It was a dream.

A dream so vivid I can still feel the ghost of her touch. Everything in me aches. I can’t go back to sleep, not after this. I can never go back to sleep until I see her again.

I text her, reminding her of our meeting that she had agreed on. But she never replies.

Three days later, I’m in my room, trying out one shirt after another. I keep checking the clock, excited, impatient. Joyce’s supposed to text me back if she can’t meet me. But no text from her ensures me that everything is still going according to plan.

My phone rings. It’s Sarah, Joyce’s friend who gave me her number.

“Hey, Zach,” she says, voice shaky. “Have you… talked to Joyce?”

“Yes. We’re supposed to meet today. What’s wrong?”

“Zach… she died in a car accident three days ago. On her way home from Groveswood.”

My hand goes numb. The phone slips a little in my grip and I press it harder to my ear like that will make her words change.

“Three days ago, at 3 A.M.” Sarah says, her voice breaking. “The funeral is today, Zach.”

My chest tightens, like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. The room feels too small, the walls pressing closer. My knees hit the side of my bed and I sit down hard, staring at the spot at the foot where she stood, where she smiled, just nights ago.

My mouth opens but no sound comes out. My heart is hammering, but my skin is ice. I’m not sure if Sarah is still talking; her words are muffled, swallowed by the ringing in my ears.

At 3 A.M. that night Joyce said she’d wait.

But she didn’t.