I listed my options. I could say good-bye and leave right now, or I could wait until she left. Either choice was painful. I stared into her deep blue eyes, seeing a beauty no one else could see. No other person knew her like I did, yet she was leaving me for someone else. That someone was never there for her like I was. Like the time her sister died. I noticed the airport fade away, being replaced by my room three years ago.
It was three in the morning and I was writing a song to pass the excess time insomnia so graciously gave me. I had almost finished when my phone rang. It was her. She was crying, asking for me to come over to her house. I told her I would be there right away. I closed my phone and opened my window. For some reason, the warm night air had no effect on my body temperature; my blood seemed to be frozen. I sprinted the distance to her house to find the front door unlocked. I let myself in and nearly ran up the stairs to her room where she sat on her bed, head in hands, sobbing. She didn’t notice me until I sat down on the bed next to her and wrapped my arm around her, drawing her close. I asked her what was wrong and she told me how her dad called explaining that her sister had got in a car accident which took her life. She had so much trouble saying the last words that I hushed her and pulled her close to me again, embracing her like a brother. The sun rose as slowly as she fell asleep. When she was finally completely asleep, I lay her back on her bed and tucked her in. I went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water for when she woke up. When I sat the glass on her bedside table, I was shocked to see she her eyes wide open, likely seeing nothing. She attempted to sit up, but promptly fell back down, crying. I laid my hand softly on her chest and told her to stay down, and to go back to sleep. She started yelling that she couldn’t, and that I couldn’t possibly know what she was going through, as I had never lost a sister. I told her that I hadn’t said I knew how she was feeling, and probably would never know. I managed to coerce her back to sleep, at which point her dad came home. He thanked me for being there and told me to go home, so he could take on the role of comforting his daughter.
I shook the memory and came back to the airport, where the two of us stood, facing each other. A sudden shock hit me when I realized that her sister had died on this day, three years before. I told her she didn’t have to go, but she argued that it was what she needed. We said our good-byes and went our separate ways. The moment I got home, the pain killed me. I sat down on my bed and cried just like she had that morning. I had lost my sister.