Logan

I’ve known Logan since we were kids. Well, some adults still have in their heads that we’re kids. I thought by sixteen we were considered young adults, and by eighteen we were legal adults. Regardless, I’ve known Logan since elementary. I met him on the playground - as kids do - where he was decking Bobby Wesler. I don’t remember why, but he probably deserved it. Unfortunately, Bobby’s dad was friends with mine, and as I watched that brat get wailed on, I could practically hear my father’s belt unfurling. I was forced to intercept a well-deserved beating, and I was sure Logan would never forgive me for that, but it actually proved to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

I could count on Logan for anything. If I needed a quick cheat sheet for homework or a safe space to vent, I knew he’d be there. He’d offer a shoulder to lean on when I cried or snacks when I was hungry. He was more than my best friend. He was family. Even if he’d never met them.

My favorite memories are all the times we sat under Ms. Pilsberry’s oak tree, taking in the breeze while we hid under the shade. I would rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the wind ruffle my hair. I’d feel the rise and fall of shoulders with each breath, the faintness of his heartbeat. When the day grew long and the sky turned that autumn orange, when I was on the verge of falling asleep, I’d feel his head rest on mine, his hand on my leg, and I forgot the rest of the world existed. 

But Logan had been acting weird ever since that day. I still remember his face that night, how his eyes shimmered in the flickering lights. I don’t think I’d ever seen them spark like that before, like lights on the water. I saw him bite his lip, the way he did when he was fighting back an urge to do something reckless. He was always more patient than I was. Even his breathing was surprisingly calm, almost as still as the nightly breeze. He wouldn’t look at me after that night. Everytime he got close, he’d bite his lip again and turn away.

Though we stopped talking, I kept an eye on him. I was used to the silent treatment from people, but it hurt so much more from Logan. I figured if I gave him space, everything would work out. We’d drift apart, probably, and maybe that was for the best. I didn’t want to let him go, but then again, maybe I was being selfish holding on like this. 

“C’mon man, what are you doing now?”

I sat leaned against the wall while Logan worked on whatever it was that he’d been working on for the last week. I wasn’t super sure what it was he was constructing but some parts of it smelled and others just made a mess. What person doesn’t dabble in ouija boards and the occult at some point? I know Logan and I tried it a few times a few years ago. I didn’t realize he still had all the stuff. 

“Please, work…please.”

I could hear his voice shudder. It sent shivers down my spine. I saw the glow of the candle light in his eyes, like stars in the sky. He lit a few more candles in a circle, connecting them with an unknown substance. We used to use salt, but apparently he was going for something different, or rather, he was doing it seriously this time. I wish he wouldn’t. I wish he’d let all this stuff go.

“Just let it go!”

I don’t typically raise my voice, especially at Logan, but I’ve gotten really tired about the way he’d been acting. I felt bad for him, but I hated seeing him like this. I wanted him to snap out of it and go back to being Logan. I missed Logan. How was I supposed to move past that night if he couldn’t?

“Molly…I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“When did I ask for your protection?”

He bit his lip. He’d cut into the skin from doing it so much lately. His lips were chapped, a bloody red strikingly different from the darkness under his eyes. He kneeled in front of me, looking up as if expecting my response. What was he expecting, that this whole ritual would fix everything? That it’d undo that night?

“Let…Let me go…”

I crouched in front of him, not that he noticed. He continued to look to the ceiling like I’d descend from the heavens like some angel. News flash, Logan, I was no angel. I thought you knew that. My father made sure I never forgot it. 

“I knew what he was doing…why didn’t I…”

I gave him a hug, but I’m not sure he felt it.

“I love you,” I whispered in his ear, unsure if he could hear me. He’d never heard me before.

“I loved you…I just…want to see you again…”

I kissed his cheek. Why hadn’t I ever had the courage to do that in life? I could taste the salt of the tears that he hadn’t wiped away, the ones that had simply dried to his skin. I held his hand, looking into his eyes. I’ve thought long and hard since that night about all the things I wish I had said. How I wish we had run away like we had planned when we were twelve. I wish I had had the courage to just cry out for help from anyone, but would anyone have heard me?

Logan would’ve.

I was supposed to turn eighteen today.

Instead, I’m watching Logan sit in a darkened room, illuminated by old wax candles, trying to bring back the dead. It doesn’t work like that, Logan. If it did, my mom would’ve been back a long time ago. 

“Happy birthday, Molly.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

I sat beside him as he watched the candles melt away the wax. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I listened to his breathing, sharp and shallow and holding back tears. I felt the faintness of his heartbeat. I could feel his slightest movements, as he lowered his head, as he covered his face. 

Don’t worry, Logan. I’ll be here as long as you need me.