‘It’s you.’ ‘It’s me.’

Content warning: Mental illness.

How did we get here? We were married, inseparable, and then it all ended. Now I was seeing you again in our empty guest room after one long, stretched out year. The sheets were clean and crisp, but it was the floral patterned, yellow duvet that dressed up the bed the way I had. Lively daisies sat in that glazed-ceramic, chic vase. The room was just how I liked it. It was a preservation of whom I once was. When you looked at me, I grasped the reel of images that ran through your mind. The still captures from your memory were stained by the filter of blackened sorrow. There’s one picture buried under lost thoughts that spoke out. It enounced of the day your mum was coming over. We were in this very room fluffing the pillows, awakening them from their slumped state. The scent of your skin earthed me. Every touch was a static attraction that instantly lured me towards your warm being. A glint in your eyes apprised me of the sheer pride you had. Nothing could bring you down. Not when I was trying to get along with your mum for once.

‘Thanks for getting the room ready. Mum will be quite satisfied.’ You said.

‘Yes, well if only that were possible. Just tell her I did it and avoid mentioning my constant whining.’ You chuckled at the mere thought of your mum having any peace with me even after five years of marriage. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. We were young and it was just you and I. Now, things were different. I was the guest.

You didn't appear the same any more. The rugged look that sported an enticing stubble, had distorted into a wild unkept beard that seemed to symbolize the growing hurt. Your eyes, sunken and rimmed by darkness. Your skin, like a faded painting, muted and distant. At least those heavy eyebrows were the same. They hooded handsomely over your eyes, but were weighed down by lines on your forehead.

It’s been almost a year, but it didn't seem so did it? It seemed like an eternity. There I was in the guest room staring at your disheveled self. I was obviously there for a reason. You're not okay. You looked at me and shrieked like you've seen a ghost, but it was only me and you soon realized that my presence was worth more than your sanity. You knew. You knew deep within that you were sinking in the mess that existed in your mind, but then again, what's wrong with a little mess?

‘Hi you,’ I said.

‘Hi-i.’ Your confusion was evident, but with every second that shot by, you were easing in. Eventually, in just a few moments, your brown eyes returned with fire.

‘It’s you.’ 

‘It’s me.’ You staggered over and then halted. A moment of hesitation that was immediately defeated by the pull. The pull for us. When you were close enough, you held out your warm hand to trace my face. The instant touch sent signals and my skin felt the flood of blood pulsing through, allowing me to beam with life. A few seconds later it was all gone. I had to go.

* * *

A week passed by, and then just when you thought it wasn't going to happen, it did. We met up again. It was like we had converged from different timelines. This time I get to see you in the garden. I was surprised. Very surprised. You detested gardening . I was the one that hurled in the hose everyday and made it gurgle and growl until water gushed out, drowning the soil. It was a passion I had, to see the flash of vibrancy return before branches had no choice but to be bare again. I wasn't any good was I? The daffodils would barely bloom. They would come so close and then just give up because stupid me had done something wrong again. I could never meet up with the demands of the ‘favorable growing conditions’ required. No matter how intently I listened to Gardeners World on BBC, with me being the one in charge, they never stood a chance. I tried. I tried during those spirited summers, when the gaze of the sun hit the color into the world. 

I loved summer. I remember dancing in the garden, jumping and spinning around to the sound of the soft breeze. 

“Get back inside, the neighbors will think you’re daft. Damn it.' You then laughed at me and imitated my every move. We looked like two insane individuals both dancing to no music, giddy and quite weird. You were right, the neighbors did see. They rolled their eyes to our ‘in you face’ expressions of youthful love, and just turned away. 

‘Hi again,’ I said. You smiled when you heard me. The stubble has returned. You looked more like yourself this time. ‘Good, I didn't like the beard. It looked like it ate up your face. What was that for?’ You blushed at my ‘sort of’ compliment and a boyish grin came after.

‘Well, the beard was my face reacting to not seeing you in- how long is it? Ah, a year tomorrow. Your head tilted to the side as you analyzed the dress I wore. ‘I've been anticipating your arrival. I resolutely prayed for it.' You then broke off and gazed at the soft, chiffon I wore. 'That dress. It’s the one I picked out for you isn't it?'

‘That’s why I'm wearing it. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘I thought you hated all this.’ I gestured to the well kept garden. 'You said it was an unnecessary bother. Not when you could cover it all with cement and play basketball instead.’ 

‘Yes, but the flowers remind me of you... I’m actually pretty good. See, they're blooming. Ha ha.’ 

You then started dancing to no rhythm like that day. 

‘Get back inside, the neighbors will think you're daft.’ I mocked. They did. They looked at you, but they didn't roll their eyes. Their faces reflected unneeded doses of pity. I've always known how much you hated to be pitied, so I joined in with the dance and we laughed at ourselves again for a few hours. We talked for a while, flirted like we had first met, but I could feel time catching up. It was time for me to go again.

* * *

We didn't have to wait long. I was with you just the next day. You must have found your way to meet me huh? We walked through the park and stopped at the great oak. Our favorite spot. You would always say we would end up like it; old, withered and wrinkled, but still holding on to each other. We sat down close to its wired roots and watched the clouds traverse by. 

‘Hey mate! Been a long time.’ It was Trevor.

‘Hey, yeah.’ He didn't know what to say. What could he say? 

‘You’re looking better than before. You doing alright?’

You glanced my way and said, ‘Never better,’ and concluded your conversation the way you usually do. Quickly. We then watched the pigeons bob their heads as they stumbled their way towards the slice of bread in your hands. I remember you saying they walked like I did the day I tripped over your feet. You tripped me on purpose for sure. You laughed mischievously at their wobbly nature and I knew you had just remembered the same thing.

We then held hands until time stood there tapping at its wrist watch, but that’s okay. I would meet you soon, wouldn’t I?

* * *

The garden again. This time you sat me down in the swing you got me. I had always admired how you coaxed out the child in me. Even those days when I was moody and petulant, you accepted me. Remember how you blind folded my eyes with my scarf and directed me by manhandling my shoulders in the direction of the surprise? When the scarf was peeled off, my body transformed into a five year old. I ran over (almost falling again) to those waving, magical, adrenaline suppliers. You laughed at me ecstatically. 

Back to the now. 'Gosh you were crazy,' you bore into my eyes and searched desperately into my soul.

'Still am,' I said.

Getting off your seat, you wound around behind and began thrusting me up. I was projected high until I could feel the rush of the warm air cleanse my face with its enthusiasm. You looked so cheerful. Your eyes, like polished marbles, bright and so full of hope.

Mr. Henderson next door gaped out his window, his one eyebrow raised up.

* * *

I was there when your parents arrived. Your dad still looked like Mr. Stevens, my primary school principal. The decrepit old man stood the whole six feet high. After he addressed himself, he passed by me without even looking my way. Man, they hated me. I was never good enough. The middle class would just not do it for the little prince. Now looking at you and knowing who you are, I thought maybe they're right. You are the most amazing person I’ve met. The luxury that surrounded you never fazed you, did it? It's like you existed in another realm where fortune was not worthy of your notice. 

‘Michael,’ dad shook his head, ‘What are you doing?’ The last time he asked you that question was the day you announced our engagement. Funny story. Then his shoulders sank, he was very disappointed . He strived earnestly to persuade you another direction, but you knew what you wanted. Now, as he strode over to you, I could see he was perturbed and filled with remorse. His rare expression of concern made you wince at his touch. ‘Son, you need help. The neighbors called. Let me help you. Who were you...’

‘No,’ you cut him short. ‘I'm' happy, can't you see? I'm smiling.’

‘No, you're not happy.' It was mum's turn, 'You're sick love. You need help.’ You tried to contest and dissuade the decision , but the couple had their way this time.

* * *

Utter elation revved through when you chose me to visit the therapist with you. I held your hand all the way. She was expensive alright, her suit fitted so perfectly, you knew it was tailor-made. She wore glasses that framed blue, gentle eyes. They gave you a sense of comfort. Her nonchalant ways and lack of intonation made it seem otherwise. She was obviously desensitized by experience. Her words tore at you bit by bit, until you were there with your insides exposed. She ensured that every smile she gave you, had a witty plan devised to lead you into all the conversations you didn't want to have.

‘Let’s talk about Beth' You rolled your eyes and wore a peevish expression. You knew you were caught there. You hadn't ever mentioned that name. Not since, well, you know- that day. The session droned on, but I must applaud her, she found a way to get through to you. I wanted to implore, to fight, to demolish this impending change, but I knew. As the visits became frequent, I wasn’t anymore. You were growing your beard again. Your eyes translated brewing anxiety. Time was approaching and as they toiled away in your case, you began to grow distant. So I waited. I waited for you to need me again. For you to be with me again.

* * *

The wind gusted by and the trees rustled in a mournful choir. I stood behind you as you stared at it. We were in an unfamiliar place. You stood there disheveled again. Head drooping down looking at the ground below. A beard, long and unmanaged. You then knelt as your fingers reached out to the grass, stroking at its blades. A tear rolled down your devastated face and then it plopped onto the dirt. Those fingers dug into the soil yearning for the connection needed. Your eyes drifted back to it. It was the gravestone that was meant to represent the part of your life that was so full of joy. Instead it was a mundane and disrespectful rock that did nothing. I knew why you had called now. Your head turned my way. Tears smeared your eyes red. You looked at me.

‘I remember the call. I rushed over to the hospital, but..’ and then you simply sobbed with convulsive gasps. I couldn’t see you this way. I knelt down beside you and made your eyes look into mine. I knew what had to be done.

“It’s okay. I know. It's time.’

You stopped weeping and then found the courage. Determined, your mind was made up. Even though your outward appearance looked lost, I was pleased that your mind had accomplished its task. It had found its way through the mess and was not so confused anymore. Today was not about ‘being’ with me. This was closure.

‘‘You're-gone. You are gone... I have to let you go or I'll never be okay again.’ The crash filled my conscience. I had no control. All I saw was the car that had no choice but to pummel into mine. We both closed our eyes to stop the visions. Today you had a mission and I was going to help you.

‘It’s ok,’ I said. You needed this. ‘Just say it. You need to say it.’ My heart felt the clot in your throat, the solidification of your suffering heart and the anger under your breath. But this time you chose wellness over insanity.

‘I love you, I do. So-so very much. Forgive me. Forgive me.’

You closed your eyes. I knew that was the first step to those final moments. Your eyelids quivered to the agony, the silence pierced through the air, then was that deep inhalation; there was nothing I could do. Nothing, until you did it. 

You said it.

‘Goodbye Beth’