Fragmented Lies

Death.

When the word is written, it doesn’t really do much. It’s just a small, five-letter word and looks so innocent. If spoken, though, it’ll incite fear and silence. I’ve never understood why death is such a taboo subject; we all die. Every second you’re alive is a second closer to that inevitable end. However, you never know when you get up in the morning if that’ll be the last time you wake up.

Five years ago today, I realised why death is such a taboo for the living. When you’re touched by death — a grandparent, a parent, a lover, a friend — it suddenly becomes something you don’t want to talk about. You’re just floating in this lake of ‘okay’ and ‘surviving’. When you talk about death, a dam will break, and you’ll drown in the whirlpool of grief and devastation.

I still remember the phone call, the way my dad sat me down, and the way without question he drove me to the hospital. It still feels like yesterday when they wouldn’t let us see the body, how they had to drag me into a side room to quieten me down.

It didn’t work.

“Earth to Winter!”

That silky voice brings me back to the here and now. A large hand slips around my middle, and I’m pulled back into his hold. The ocean, minty scent of his aftershave fills my nose, snakes into my brain, and forces a smile onto my face despite the day.

I stare out of the bedroom window, taking in the view from the first-floor flat. Buildings of different heights don’t let me see much in the middle of the city from the window, but if I squint hard enough, I can make out the sea. It’s only nine-thirty in the morning, but the sun is beaming despite the chilly September air. Being near the sea means it’s always windy, but today feels extra cold.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “Today is—” I’m unable to say it.

He exhales. “I know, difficult. I… don’t even know what to say. Do you want me to come with you?”

I shake my head and walk out of his arms. I grab my hair and fix it into a ponytail, leaving two strands of blonde hair framing my fringe. He grins as I do it, but there’s a sad twinge to our silent exchange.

“I’ll come if you want me to. You know I will,” he offers.

“I know, thanks. I think I should do it alone; you know? Could be awkward if his parents show up, anyway.”

“We’ve been together for nearly four years,” he says. “They, and he, would be happy you’re moving forward.”

“Liam, I’m going to my late boyfriend’s grave,” I say with a straight face. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for my fiancé to come with me.”

Liam’s silent for a moment. I heave a breath, waiting for the usual small argument to ensue. It could not be awkward; Alison and Rob know all about Liam, but still, I want to talk to him in peace.

But it doesn’t.

“Fair enough,” he says.

“I won’t be long, anyway. I just need to pick up the flowers, then I’ll be at the cemetery for like, half an hour.”

I grab my bag, my phone, and my jacket before walking out into the cream-painted hallway of the flat. I really need to get back to focusing on redecorating.

My phone vibrates.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Liam asks before I can look at the notification. I wonder if it’s the same unknown number that has been trying to scam me for the past week.

I grin at him and kiss his thin lips. His brown hair is still wet from his shower this morning. The dark bags under his eyes show me how tired he must be after a long shift at work yesterday. Even on these days, he still fills me with the warmth he did from the day we met during my first year of university. His stubble tickles my face, but I love it regardless.

“I’ll be fine. Promise,” I say with sincerity. He pulls me in again for a hug, and I bury my head into his firm chest. “It’s your only day off this week, go and rest, or go back to bed!”

He shakes his head. “As if, today of all days. I’ll have a brunch to end all brunches ready for when you get back. Then we’ll sit and watch TV, huh? Maybe I can finally teach you something new on the piano.”

“How did I land a guy like you? I’m lucky as hell,” I say with a small chuckle.

“No, I’m the lucky one. I love you,” he says. “You got this, okay? Then we’ll set off the balloon later like we always do.”

I nod, and just like every anniversary for the past four years, I inhale, hold it for three seconds and then let it go, preparing myself for the torture all over again.

“I’ve got this. Right, I’ll see you in a bit.”

I check my phone. As usual, the unknown number is messaging again. ‘Can I see you today?’ I swear it’s someone either trying to joke around or just a simple case of a wrong number. I ignore it and carry on out the door.

The cemetery is quiet, and though the sun is shining, the graves always look so dark. I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it? Death is always considered dark, dismal, and taboo. I walk past the little gate that leads to the colourful yet haunting baby graveyard. Every single time I pass it, it always sends cold sweat up my spine. It’s horrific that the only sense of colour in this graveyard belongs to the singular worst thing.

I suppose whatever way you look at it, though, every death is someone’s relative, someone’s loved one. So, who’s to say the parent who buried their unborn child is worse off than the parent who buried their son at seventeen years old?

I still don’t have an answer after five years of coming here, but there is something bleaker and more heart-breaking to me about a baby cemetery versus the thousands of older dead people. At least they tasted life, they had a chance to love and live.

Except, he did taste life; he loved, and he was loved. But he didn’t get the chance to live as he should have. He didn’t get to taste adulthood, marriage, being a parent or following his career plan.

It was stolen. Mutilated. Broken.

Caleb Jack Morris. 1997 – 2014. Beloved son, friend, and boyfriend. Always loved, forever missed.

I put down the bunch of white roses and snowdrops by the stone. He grew snowdrops for me as they used to be my favourite flower. Now they bring nothing but pain and memories as I place them here every year with a new teddy bear. This time, I’ve bought him a little pink pig, just like the one I bought for him when I was sixteen as a Valentine’s gift.

“Cal… you’d hate this,” I say to the stone. “The sun beaming in September. It should be raining, right? We should be wrapped up in blankets, playing on the console or watching shit on TV with hot chocolates. It’s your favourite time of year – pumpkin spice season! The shops have Halloween shit on display already. Some have even gotten Christmas stuff out. I keep imagining your groans as I go around town and see all the tinsel and shit.”

He won’t answer me. I remember the last thing he said on the phone the evening it happened: ’I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll go shopping, grab some snacks and binge TV. Bye, Snowdrop. I love you.’

Of course, the very last thing he said to me was actually ‘Bye, love you.’ Before he hung up. I never heard from him again.

I always wonder whether he thought of me that night as he lay there. Was he relieved that I was too excited to see him the next day to imagine him in pain? He didn’t need to know that while he was dying, I was having a random panic attack as if I knew what was happening to him.

Cal and I had been so entwined in each other’s lives since we were two years old; my first proper memory is holding his hand as we walked into our first day of big school together. I still can’t get used to not having him around as my best friend of fourteen years and my boyfriend for three years.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here as much as I should be. Work is crazy. Yeah, I’m still at the bookshop, and yeah, I know what you’re probably thinking. I’m destined for more than just the bookshop, but ever since it happened, I can’t think of anything worse than working in prisons or with criminals.”

Heart-breaking, agonising, soul-destroying silence.

“I’d love to know where you are, Cal. Can you see me? I realise that’s crazy, and death is just… nothing. This shit… I’m talking to a stone. I miss you, Cal.”

As time has gone on, I realise that I’ve never got over his death and it still rips me apart, but there comes a time when you accept it. I have days when I sob into my pillow, but they happen less and less. Visiting him doesn’t affect me like that anymore.

Like love, death is a living thing, contrary to its nature. For people, it’s a living, real thing that grows and develops. When someone you know dies, it’s like a blossoming flower. Death starts the process, and as you go on, the pain gets bigger and unfurls the flower until it’s fully opened. Then it drops as the years go by until the petals drop, and you just live with it like the fully de-petaled flower.

“You’d be graduating this year, a doctor! You would’ve been brilliant,” I mention. “Hell, you’d be starting your foundation years this month. I wonder what you’d be specialising in. We could’ve been the sociologist-slash-criminologist and the doctor fighting the sick and criminal.”

I touch the gravestone; it’s cold and hard under my fingers.

“We should be doing so much together,” I whisper.

“I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, okay? I promise I won’t leave it as long this time, and I’ll bring some fresh snowdrops now it’s your favourite time of year,” I say. “Love you, Cal. Always have, always will.”

I wrap my jacket further around myself before turning away from his grave. As I pass the bunch of trees, I glance over my shoulder and see a couple of people retreating further away, and the shadow of someone running.

I carry on, feeling the pinch of hunger replace the nausea now that the grave visit is done. But just like every day for the past five years, the pang of emptiness that his murder has left in me will never go away.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Another text message from an unknown number: ‘You look amazing right now.’

I furrow my brow and glance around. No one but the couple as they disappear around the corner.

“What the—”

It buzzes again. This time it’s just an email. But the message is still on the screen. Right now, implies someone is here, watching.

Another one comes in. ‘Knew I’d see you today.’

I message back, ‘Who is this?’ before starting to move. The hell?

My heart pounds, and prickles start up my neck. It can’t be Liam, because I’d have his new number, and he would’ve told me.

Cal’s gravestone is behind me. I turn around and stare at it. No one else is there.

There are only two people who would say something like that to me. Liam and—

No. He’s gone.

His gravestone is dull against the landscape. He’s definitely gone, as ruthless as it is to admit. I can hear his voice in my head, ‘Snowdrop, you look amazing right now. I would totally do you—oh wait, I do.’ He’d give me a cheeky grin and kiss my neck just to tease.

I reluctantly keep walking, desperate to get away from the memory before it haunts me all over again.

My phone buzzes.

‘I like the pink on you.’

My eyes flit around. No one. It’s like a desert here, but with the wisping souls of the departed, who can’t use a phone.

Part of me wants to message again, but the common-sense side knows they won’t tell me who they are – they haven’t answered me yet. I’m wearing a pink dress, so whoever this is can definitely see me right now.

My legs work hard and move me towards the exit.

Whoever this is doesn’t show themselves. I can see an older man and a young child over by the edge of the gravestones, but neither of them has a phone or even looks at me as I walk past.

Do I even want to know? Maybe it’s Liam pulling a prank, but why would he? He knows what this day is. He wouldn’t.

Grace and Jackson from work wouldn’t either. Anyone with my number knows what day it is and wouldn’t do this to me.

My eyes dart to the left as I reach the edge of the cemetery. A couple in the baby graveyard, and instantly my heart cracks. That emotion, that raw pain, I can’t imagine…

Another message buzzes in on my phone.

'I’ll see you soon.’

I glance to my right. No one. Just graves, graves, and more graves.

Marching out of the cemetery, I glance around once more but see nothing or anyone who looks like they’re even paying attention to me.

A breath leaves my mouth that I wasn’t even aware I was holding. My car is a few steps ahead of me, so I lock my phone and grab the keys.

I unlock the car and glance around one more time.

Nothing of note. No one new. No one looking at me.

Hopefully, it’s the wrong number. But something about the specific way they said that rattles me to my core. And why today of all days?