Because You Can Feel Me - 1. Because You Can Feel Me

For what felt like a long time I had been lying on my black couch and just kept staring at a random spot on the white ceiling.

The living room was sparsely furnished and decorated in a very clean, minimalist way and only consisted of the large, U-shaped couch, a rectangular glass table in its center and a black cupboard about twice the length of the big TV sitting on top of it. There were a couple of mostly monochrome, abstract paintings hanging on the walls and both windows on the right were framed by some plain curtains that had a similar light grey tone than the marginally darker, smooth hardwood floor. Lastly there were four adjustable lights on a circular, black fixture at the ceiling, each pointed towards a different corner of the room.

Outside it was dark and misty, the ground was covered by a thick layer of snow and the two giant oak-trees were bare and looked dead. Without even the faintest breeze there wasn't any perceivable movement whatsoever and it was completely quit.

I hadn’t turned on the heater and the cold radiating from the walls made my breath slightly visible every time I exhaled through my nose. I was still wearing the all black suit I put on for the funeral some days ago. I hadn’t even taken off my shoes since I came home, nor had I eaten, but my stomach had stopped aching after the first night and at this point I only felt a dull throbbing.

I had been getting weaker and now I finally started to feel tired enough again that I was hoping I might be able to sleep for a couple of hours. Since my back felt sore I turned on my side, facing the windows, and then I closed my eyes.

When I woke up nothing had changed outside, but for a moment I was so drowsy that it disoriented me and as I tried to focus I was overcome by the suffocating feeling of my bleak new reality without him in it.

Thinking of the gaping void his absence had left me with made my whole body tense up and burn. I gasped sharply and the freezing air felt painful going into my nose and lungs. After a few seconds I managed to push all the agonizing thoughts out of my mind and slowly returned to a state of hollow numbness.

Still on my side I just stared at the clean, leather upholstery of the couch for the longest time, trying not to think or feel anything.

Eventually my neck started to ache too much and I had to prop myself up to adjust my position. That's when I noticed something colorful wedged in behind one of the pillows in the middle of the couch.

I reached for it and it turned out to be his little silver box, containing the medical marijuana that had been prescribed to him to help with his nausea and lack of appetite due to the aggressive chemotherapy.

It was cold but soft to the touch and the top was custom painted in a color-rich, abstract pattern, reminiscent of Jackson Pollock's style.

I had a very unpleasant memory of him buying it, because the box had cost several thousand dollars and I was quite critical about him spending such an unreasonable amount of money on something he would only use for storing his weed. Instead of retorting in a witty and facetious manner, as he usually did, he just looked down at the box and said with some bitterness in his voice "Remember this conversation when you buy a box for me that'll make my mom feel poor for about half an hour and then just get buried six feet deep in the ground, never to be seen again." The silence that followed still haunted me, because I think it was the first time the weight and finality of the situation felt so immediate and palpable that it could no longer be ignored or downplayed, as we had managed to do up to that point. We went back to being positive and courteous soon after, but the crushing feeling of that moment never really dissipated and kept looming over us like a dark shadow.

Remembering it now made my chest burn worse than before and as the pain spread I started to take deeper and longer breaths, cooling down my lungs to such a degree that the air didn’t even become visible anymore when I exhaled. It numbed the burning and soon my mind was empty again.

I returned my focus to the box I was still holding with both hands and opened it. Inside there were two equally sized compartments. The one on the left contained a clean glass pipe and a small red lighter and on the right there was what looked like a prescription bottle with the marijuana in it. I placed the box on my lap, picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid. The sweet smell of the marijuana entered my nose and I had to stop for a moment to keep myself from reliving the memory of us getting it at the dispensary. Once I had pushed these thoughts aside I ground up some of the flakes with my fingers and filled the pipe to the brim.

When I was done I took the lighter, closed the box and after putting it back behind the pillow, where I couldn't see it anymore, I headed to the bathroom.

My hands were shaking really badly and I had to cover the top of the pipe with my thumb, to make sure the marijuana wouldn't spill out.

Except for my black razor and the red label on the toothpaste, both sitting on the little shelf beneath medicine cabinet, the bathroom was noticeably devoid of color and felt very clean, almost in a clinical sense. There was a shower and bathtub on the right, a large, tinted window in the back and a sink and toilet on the left, all white, including the smooth tiles on the floor and walls.

When I walked past the sink I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I was so startled by it that it stopped me dead in my tracks.

My dry skin was nearly as pale as my graying stubble and short, dark brown hair. My lips had an alarmingly bluish shade and my green eyes were murky and bloodshot.

Once the initial shock wore off I walked over to the window, cracked it open and then I sat down on the closed toilet.

I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before putting the tip of the pipe into my mouth. Next I lit the marijuana and forcefully sucked in the smoke until the ashes stopped glowing, then I held it all in and only when my vision started to darken I let out the little bit of smoke that hadn't been absorbed by my lungs. I gasped for air and had to cough violently, making me gag, but since I hadn't eaten anything in days it didn't get worse than a few dry heaves.

By the time I managed to catch my breath the room was spinning and I realized that I had to get to the living room before I wouldn't be able to stand anymore.

I put the pipe and lighter on the window sill and then I stumbled over to the sink, almost collapsing on the way. I could barely see where I was going due to the intense dizziness and I had to brace myself on the walls, but once I reached the living room I had to make it to the couch without anything to lean against and for some reason I figured that I should move as fast as possible, to shorten the time I would be at risk of falling. So I swiftly walked to the gap in the center of the couch and just as I turned to the right, to take the final few steps I became even more blindingly dizzy. Before I could react I fell over like a log, crashed through the glass table and hit the floor hard enough to knock myself unconscious.

When I opened my stinging eyes some time later my body felt heavy, cold and lifeless and my vision was getting obscured by the excruciating throbs of my head.

I couldn't bring myself to move though. Instead I just lay there on all the shards of glass, trying not to breathe too hard, to keep my chest from pressing into them. The pain from the bleeding cuts on my face and various other places on my body made it difficult for me to focus, but soon I felt like I was being swallowed by the icy floor, draining me of the little energy I had left and further dulling all my senses.

Suddenly I heard footsteps coming from the hallway. A few seconds later someone opened the living room door and then a shadow was cast over me.

"Damn," the person said and I immediately recognized his voice. So soft and silky, full of life and warmth. I froze and stopped breathing for a moment, like an animal playing dead to keep a predator from attacking.

"I came to check on you, all worried as hell, but here you are, getting fucked up on drugs and breaking shit like it's nobody's business," he continued in a jestingly scandalized tone.

My entire body was painfully stiff from the tension and the growing lump in my throat made me feel like I was being choked. I was too petrified to move or speak, but all of a sudden he lay down on his side right next to me, rested his head on his arm and as he stared straight into my eyes he winked at me and smiled so adoringly, it felt like the first time I ever saw him, like the world stopped for a moment and everything turned black and white except for him.

He looked healthy and vibrant and his beautifully deep hazel-colored eyes were brimming with love and joy. His shortish, curly dark hair was lustrous and his black, perfectly groomed beard was creating a striking contrast with his otherwise soft-featured, friendly face and his flawless, golden brown skin.

This was how I would've wanted to remember him, not the way I did after more than six months of having to watch him wither away and turn into a bleak shadow of his once lively self.

"You're not real," I whispered hoarsely and my eyes started to sting as soon as the words had left my mouth.

"Then what did you even say that out loud for, huh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and smirking at me.

Before I had time to respond, he reached over with his hand and stroked my cheek with the back of his index finger. His touch was so gentle and tender I instantly felt pins and needles from the top of my head all the way down to my neck. I could even feel the warmth of his skin, making my cold, numb face tingle with every light brush.

"No," I weakly gasped as I squeezed my eyes shut. A tear ran down my temple and dripped onto the floor, the first one I had shed since he had left me.

When I finally dared opening them again I tried to look at his still smiling face, but it just made my chest burn like it was set on fire and after a few moments I stared at a random spot on the glass-littered floor instead.

"Please, leave," I whispered, both timid and forceful at the same time.

"Why? Because you're so fucking busy right now? I mean, from the looks of things all you're on track of getting done today is maybe accidentally pissing yourself," he answered in a very impish, affable way and then he chuckled at his own joke.

For a short second I almost felt like laughing too and the sensation cut through all the biting tension, but it promptly got swallowed by the harsh reality of the situation setting back in and I winced in discomfort.

"No," I breathed with some desperation in my voice. "You're not real," I added and scowled in anger, because I didn't want it to be true and hated myself for insisting on it.

"Listen, you have no way of knowing for sure whether I'm real or not, but you can say the same thing about people who believe in God and yet they still talk to him every day. You know why? Because they can feel his presence and his love. And that's all it takes, it's all that matters. So, do you not fucking feel me?" he said in a more contemplative and purposeful tone as he kept caressing my cheek.

"I don't want to fucking feel you!" I hissed, almost chocking on my words, and more tears started to stream down my face.

"Fine, I'll leave forever then," he answered with a sullen inflection and his smile faded. He got up and as I heard him walk away a wave of fear flooded my body, making my heart race and my head pound furiously.

It felt like being thrown naked into an icy lake, with a cement block tied to my leg that was pulling down to the dark bottom.

"No!" I gasped and tried to prop myself up, cutting my hands on the shards of glass in the process, but just when I had managed to get on my feet, my knees buckled and I fell over backwards.

He was about to walk out the door and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness and utter distress made me hyperventilate.

"Please," I whimpered despairingly and my face contorted in pain.

He let go of the doorknob and turned around, but I couldn't look at him. Instead I just leaned against the couch, hugged my legs to my chest and started to sob.

"I can't… I need you," I mumbled through my tears, staring at the countless pieces of broken glass on the floor again.

From the corner of my eye I saw him sitting down on the edge of the couch and then he sighed in frustration.

"How about you make up your fucking mind already," he said in a demanding but still calm and non-aggressive manner.

"You're the one who left ME!" I answered and looked at him like I was both expecting an apology and asking for forgiveness.

He just frowned and slowly shook his head. I gazed back down at the floor, tears dripping off my face.

"YOU gave up. YOU left," I said with some resentment.

"I did. Just like you are giving up now. Just like you are abandoning me now. The difference is that unlike me you have a choice. So fuck you for acting like you're the victim here, because the truth is that you're just a fucking coward!" he replied, sounding stern and indignant.

A long, tension-filled silence followed and even though he was still sitting right there in front of me, for some reason I suddenly felt lonelier than I ever had before.

"What do you want?" I eventually asked, almost in a whisper, just feeling exhausted and hopeless.

"You're about to starve and freeze to death, so what the fuck do you think I want?" he answered soberly.

"If I die, I will join you, right? Isn't that what you believe?" I asked and looked at him for a brief moment, hoping it would make him understand, maybe even be enough to earn his blessing.

"Not if you die like this!" he answered like he was stating the obvious and was annoyed by my ignorance.

"Because the fucking Bible says so?" I said under my breath, somewhat ashamed, because I knew I was being out of line by disrespecting his faith like this.

"Yes, but it's also just basic common sense, you fucking heretic. I mean, if our soul or essence, whatever you want to call it, is energy, then it has a polarization. So if your energy is negatively charged when you die then you won't end up in the same place as my positively charged soul did when I died," he answered matter-of-factly.

"But opposites attract each other," I said in kind of a sheepish way and only dared glancing at him, to check if he was getting madder.

"Opposites don't merge though, so we would be together but also forever separated. Like visiting each other in prison, with a thick plate of glass always standing between us," he replied, coming across more tempered.

"Or like now, where you only still exist behind the glass screen of my phone and some picture-frames," I mumbled in a dejected tone, saying it more to myself than him.

"Speaking of which, what happened to all our photos?" he asked as he looked around the room with a slight frown.

"I put them away," I answered quietly, feeling embarrassed and guilty admitting it.

"Yeah, I inferred as much based on my observation of them not being there. I'm quite the genius when it comes to figuring out super-obvious shit like that. It's not what I was asking though," he replied and shot me a probing look.

"I'm sorry," I sighed. "It just hurt too much to see your face everywhere and I didn't want that pain to get tied to those pictures and become a permanent part of how they make me feel, you know?... I swear it's not just an excuse," I said, doing my best to sound earnest, and then I looked at him anxiously, because I was scared he wouldn't believe me and that it would add to his disappointment.

"No, you're right, keeping everything the way it was would just make it a thousand times more difficult to move on and accept that your life has changed. But that's the problem, isn't it? You don't want to accept it, because on some level you feel like it would be the same as approving of it?" he answered in a much more gracious fashion than before.

"I… I don't know," I hesitantly replied after a short pause, shaking my head a little and frowning in confusion.

"Listen, you can take your time accepting it, but just lying on the couch like a dead fish, that shit has to stop right now. I mean, you just lost the love of your life, you should be fucking upset or something. But you're not. Almost as if you didn't really care all that much about me," he said, sounding blunt and impatient, and then he shrugged his shoulders with a defiant expression.

Even though I knew he would never actually question my love for him, it still caught me off guard that he would try to provoke me in this way and I glared at him in disbelief.

"How can you say that?" I asked with an accusatory intonation. "I love you more than I love myself!" I added insistently.

"That's really not saying much right now! And if you did love me, why wouldn't you care how it would make me feel to see you like this?" he replied, his voice filled with acrimony and blame, and then he raised his eyebrows as he gave me another stern, reproachful look.

"Because you're dead!" I barked with a grim scowl and turned away. After a short pause he sighed and shook his head again.

"I'm as dead as you choose for me to be," he answered more calmly. "Remember that poem from Desperate Housewives?

'Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die,'" he continued and then he let another moment pass. "You know who wrote that shit?" he finally asked, almost as if it was a rhetorical question.

"No. I don't," I mumbled, trying to ignore his drilling stare.

"Someone who's not a fucking coward, that's who!" he said pointedly and I was so bewildered I couldn't help but turn to him.

"Alright. I get it. I need to feel the loss," I snapped back, starting to become frustrated. "Next you're going to tell me that the pain will make me stronger and help me grow, aren't you?" I added and slightly huffed through my nose as I averted my eyes again.

"No, of course not, pain is not a fucking smoothie, it's a symptom of weakness and if you try to ignore it or just keep dwelling on that shit, it'll bleed you dry and leave you wrecked. So as you would do when suffering any disease, you need to take care of yourself, build up your strength and then flush that garbage out of your system before it can cause any permanent damage," he explained in a very assertive, factual manner.

"Not to be a stickler, but doesn't that basically boil down to the same thing as saying that the pain will make me stronger?" I asked without any bias or sarcasm, just genuine interest.

"No, it's not the same thing and by giving the pain all the credit you're also giving it more power over you. It just doesn't make sense. You're doing all the work, so you deserve all the credit and ideally you should feel empowered by your strength, not glorify your weakness," he said, seeming confident and mindful, and then he grinned at me as if he knew that I felt outsmarted and was lost for words.

I let his advice sink in for a few moments and after taking another deep breath and sighing long and hard I looked at him.

"I'm sorry," I said bashfully, kind of feeling like a dumb teenager too stubborn and prideful to see the bigger picture and realize how wrong he is. "I am weak, aren't I?" I asked, lost in thoughts and gazing down at the sea of broken glass in front of me.

"You are a bit of a mess right now, sure, but I'd still boink you," he replied in an earnest, kind-hearted tone.

I felt amused and touched for a moment and then a wave of melancholy washed it all away.

"But you can't," I answered sadly and the room turned quiet.

After an uncomfortable pause he sighed and then he got up and took a seat right next to me on the floor.

"It's going to be ok," he said, his voice filled with affection and optimism.

"I miss you so fucking much!" I replied shakily and tears started to run down my face again.

"I know baby," answered, sounding emotional and close to tears himself. He leaned towards me, gave me the most delicate and loving kiss on the cheek and then he put his head on my shoulder.

The warmth of his lips lingered for a moment and just like earlier, I felt pins and needles all over my body.

"Please don't leave," I whimpered, anxious and dismayed knowing we would have to part ways soon. He took a hold of my arm and gently stroked it.

"I will always be with you. Always and forever, I swear," he said with such vigor and profound devotion, I could feel it in my soul that it was true.

I carefully leaned my head against his and then we just sat there without neither of us saying a word.

I tried to stay as still as possible, in fear of disturbing these perfect moments, and my heart was racing, because I knew it was the last time we could be together like this before we both had to move on.

After a while all the love and gratitude I felt started to mix with the deep sadness and anger, creating a flood of emotions that were quickly becoming too overwhelming to contain.

"I love you," I eventually blurted out. I closed my eyes and then I wept so hard I could barely breathe.

Soon my throat was aching and I just felt weak and tired.

When I opened my eyes the room was dark and it was dead silent. I knew he was gone right away, because all I could feel was the bone-chilling cold.

My first instinct was to just clear my mind again and let myself be swallowed by the expanding numbness. But then I remembered him calling me a coward and his voice kept echoing through my head. It was my only memory of him ever sounding unkind or disappointed with me. It was like he was trying to tell me that I had failed him and the longer I thought about it the more guilty and upset it made me feel. I did my best to block it out, but his voice screaming "coward" was just getting louder.

After a few minutes I couldn't take it anymore and the only solution I could think of was to just end it. That's when I remembered him telling me that I wouldn't go to the same place as him if I killed myself.

I wasn't even sure if I believed in an afterlife, but I couldn't rule out that it existed either and I realized that there was nothing I wouldn't do, no pain great enough I wasn't willing to endure, for a chance to be with him again. Suddenly taking a leap of faith didn't seem like a lot of be asked anymore and I became angry at myself for having been so ignorant and careless.

I took a few breaths and then I slowly got off the floor. My body was stiff and aching all over from the numerous cuts. I walked to the door and when I turned on the lights I sharp pain jolted through my eyes. I quickly covered them with both hands and groaned. A couple of seconds later they started to adjust to the brightness of the room and I went to the windows, closed the shutters and cranked the heater.

Even though I was so weak my legs were shaking I still got a broom from the supply closet and swept all the shards of glass onto one big pile.

Since I didn't feel like I had enough energy left to bend down and finish the job, I decided to have something to eat and drink first.

I headed to the kitchen where I made myself a bowl of oatmeal with nuts and dried fruits and also brewed a cup of chamomile tea. Once everything was prepared I returned to the living room and took a seat on the couch.

When I drank a few sips of the hot tea it burned unpleasantly all the way from my throat down to my stomach, but then I realized that it was actually the cold that had been burning and now that the warmth was spreading it eased the pain.

I started to eat the oatmeal and tried to wolf it down as fast as I could, to be done with it quicker. After less than a minute my stomach cramped up and I had to gag quite badly. It made my head throb, my vision got blurred and I became so dizzy I almost fell over.

All of a sudden I felt such intense hatred and desperation I screamed at the top of my lungs, smashed the bowl against the wall with all the might I could muster and then I burst into tears. I was breathing really hard and my whole body was trembling, so I tried to pull myself together and even closed my eyes, but I just kept sobbing uncontrollably.

When I finally opened my eyes again I saw the pile of glass in front of me on the floor and I froze for a second. I was still pretty upset, but I couldn't stop staring at the pile with a deep, incredulous frown.

After what felt like a long time I nodded without even meaning to and then, for a very brief moment, I smiled.