It's hard to say that those who you love will stay with you.
The air is filled with sorrow. Sorrow that cannot be described with silence, but a weak quiet that's saturated with tears. Hot tears, they stream down my face. My throat burns, it feels like these emotions are choking me. Everything is still, and the air refuses to move. I lean on my dad, and he's the only thing that's warm, comforting. He's crying too, holding mom's ribbon in one hand, and her hairclip in the other. He clasps his hands together, and looks towards me.
"I'm so sorry," he whispers, leaning into my ear. "It's all my fault." I've never him this way before and I can feel my face tighten, and just like him I can't help the memories and tears from flowing. I look up to the sky, maybe that'll make the pain go away. It doesn't; My heart hurts. Dad clasps my hands, withholding for a moment then he shakily puts mom's keepsakes in mine. He embraces me in a hug. A warm hug, hollow but comforting. Nothing will ever feel like how mom used to.
Nothing will ever replace her.
It's hard to say that they won't leave.
Ian sits across from us, watching and comforting us. I haven't listened to a thing he's said. I can't. These moments pass unintelligibly, who knows if they took forever or only a blink. It's quiet, nothing betraying the hurt. Dad, with a rising sniffling, whispers again, "I'm so sorry, Ari." He stops leaning on me, and holds me by the shoulders. His eyes meet mine. "I…"
His words trail off, and I see his eyelids slowly close, one before the other, quickly snapping back open to continue, "I'll never forgive myself for this." Dad's eyes close, and his body falls to the ground.
I scream.
He's not moving.
He's not moving.
But oh, it is impossible to say that they want to.
Ian always told me two things. One, to never do what dad did, and two, to make my mother proud. My heart aches, and it pains me. Every time Ian goes out to the hospital I can't help but remember mom's face when I saw her for the last time. My fists are clenched tight, painfully. I loosen them, and untie mom's ribbon from my wrist. I look at it, that's all I do.
Her ribbon is a shiny red, the threads in the cloth lined like grains of wood. It's soft, silky. I run my fingers across it. Each and every centimeter brings me so much pain, so much hurt. But it's the one of the only things I can remember her by. These objects, these keepsakes, why do they hurt?
I close my eyes and lean back on my cot. The tent is dark on the inside, gloomy and cold. I just don't get how the calm leaves me so empty. Sick tears stream down my face, hot but only of cold memories. My throat hurts, each sniffle bringing a new burn.
A few taps on the door of the tent ripple through the silence. "Hey, Ari." It's Ian. His voice sounds tired, even more than I am. When I don't respond, he unzips the door, and steps in. His eyes look dreamy, slightly closed and moving in anticipation of his steps. He takes a look at me, and slumps down on his cot. "How's it goin'?" His voice is trying to sound uplifting.
I grunt.
"Ari." He sighs, "You can't keep on like this." My grip tightens on mom's ribbon. It feels like a weight.
"Okay…?" I respond. He doesn't understand. He never did.
He shuffles, and straightens his back. "It's not healthy. I know it's hard without them, but you have to do something."
My cheeks start to feel hot. "What even happened to my dad?"
He averts his gaze.
"Why have you never told me?" I can feel my voice rising, as I lean up.
"Ari…" His eyes are watering.
"Ian," I begin to yell.
"Ari, I can't." He looks at me. "I can't."
I can feel my breath run hot, and my face scrunch up. I begin to stand. "Why won't you tell me? Why don't you trust me with anything!" I can feel a hysteria build up. "Do you even care about me? Do you care?"
He's hurt by my words. I can see that he flinches, and I try to cool down. I breath. Ian is kind, more than I have ever been, and more than I ever will be. He doesn't deserve this. He's taken care of me all these years and this is how I treat him? I throw mom's ribbon onto the bed. I'm pathetic, aren't I? I'm pathetic.
"I'm," I whisper in a low voice, it barely comes out, "Sorry. I guess." I step out the unzipped door and leave Ian alone.