Sad Boys

Indy

Life for me has always been missing something. It’s a lot like when someone rubs your labia during foreplay.

They’re right there, so close to pleasure, but not close enough to take you there. What makes my need for more unfair is that I haven’t suffered any trauma.

My childhood was great, and my parents made sure I always had everything. I could argue that some of my need comes from always being controlled.

Every move is thought of and jotted down in a planner. You always should have a plan, my dad tells me.

The upside is if I fight tooth and nail, I usually can get out of doing something I really don’t want to do.

Ballet isn’t one of those things, and I’ve grown to hate it. Everything about it is sour to me, and the second I can stop, I’m going to.

“Heaven in Hiding” by Halsey blasts through my headphones and I’m halfway finished with a poem that’s been eating at me all day.

Things that may seem like enough but aren’t—it’s a series of poems I’m working on. I should say words on a piece of paper because I’m terrible at poems.

Love

No matter what you’re told, it doesn’t conquer all

It does not save an addict from being one

Love cannot fill the void that the death of a loved one leaves behind

It cannot fix a sickness or cure cancer

Love is a lie

A lie we all cling to

Love resides in our heads

That heart-pulsing glee you get

It’s not love but pride

Pride that the person you chose, chose you back

It’s not love

And even if it were, it would not be enough

The music cuts off as a ring chimes through my earbuds. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but my gut tells me to answer the call.

When I do, my life comes crashing down. Everything I had and my small, safe, only slightly stressful world gets flipped on its head.

I’m sitting in the back of an Uber. My eyes fixed on the blurring lights and streets. There are no racing thoughts going through my head.

Nothing.

It’s the safest way to protect myself. I’m on the way to the hospital. My parents were in a terrible accident.

There are no hospital room numbers because there won’t be any. Their bodies are being held in the hospital morgue. The doctors did everything they could.

It doesn’t feel like that. I’m sure they did, but it seems bizarre that an expert in keeping patients alive and healing them couldn’t do anything to help them.

Hauntingly, my words scattered on the paper come back to me. Love isn’t enough. It won’t bring them back to life. A doctor wasn’t enough.

Tears roll beneath my chin, and I realize I’ve thought about it for too long. Nothing. That’s what I was supposed to stick to.

“Here.” The Uber driver pulls me out of my numb cloud. I realize we must have been sitting here next to the emergency entrance for a few minutes.

“Sorry.” I wipe more of my tears away, choking on my words.

Shuffling through my wallet, I look for my card. The driver waves his hand at me. “You seem to be in a bad place. The look on your face alone is unbearable. Let me be the one good thing amidst the bad.” His dark skin crinkles around his eyes as he smiles at me through the rearview mirror.

“Thank you,” I mumble, feeling grateful but too overwhelmed by grief to show it properly.

With a deep breath, I close the door and walk through the emergency ones. The woman with blonde hair asks me for my info.

I’m not sure if I’m in the right place. They probably told me what to do, but I heard nothing past the—we tried unsuccessfully to resuscitate them.

I get closer to the desk. My eyes dart around the room, ensuring no one is close enough to hear.

There’s no reason for me to do that. It just feels like a secret. Something only I should know. “I’m here for my deceased parents.” My voice breaks.

The lady stops what she’s doing to look at me. Pity fills her blue eyes. “Let me show you where to go.”

I swallow and follow her through the doors, for which she scans her badge. We go past color pods and then another set of double doors.

Out in front of the metal door stands security. A row of chairs is adjacent to him. I have half a mind to sit in a chair. The longer I sit, the longer I can deny the truth—the reality.

He makes eye contact with me. I look at him but don’t really see him. He nods, and I return the nod.

The guy scans his badge, and as soon as I walk in, to my left, they’re there. My parents are on metal slabs.

Not one. Both. I wasn’t expecting them to be so close or for their faces to be exposed. My dad’s sandy brown hair, littered with patches of gray, is still styled.

He looks fine despite his odd color and blue lips. His round brown tortoiseshell glasses aren’t on his face.

He doesn’t need to see.

That thought rattles me. The sight of my mom pulls me out of my trance with dad. Her blonde hair is streaked with crimson.

I stare at her blue lips and walk closer. There’s something odd. Odd about the way both of them look. The car wreck was bad. That’s what I was told.

Their bodies were mangled, he said. I move some of my mom’s hair out of her face. The security guard steps forward and clears his throat.

I give him a fucking try me stare. He wisely stays put, and that’s when I see it. On her neck are two hand-shaped bruises.

Even though I want to freak out, I play it cool. “Can I have a moment to speak with them in private?” I keep my voice steady and sweet.

He doesn’t want to leave. I can see it all over his face, but he nods. Once the door is closed, I start examining both of them and taking pictures.

Other than the bruises on Mom’s neck, nothing is amiss. It makes no sense. If Mom was strangled, what happened to Dad?

I kiss each of them on the cheek, and it isn’t until I’m in the tub at home that I sob.