The last time I saw her 

she had flowers in her hair,

not hibiscus for pictures,

the kind the wind puts there.

The last time I saw her

all the world fell away,

and all that remained

was her stare and her sway.

The last time I saw her

she laughed about my fear,

and the way I always fret

'bout getting from here over there.

The last time I saw her 

she warned me with her eyes,

but I wasn't paying attention

so her death was a surprise.

The last time I saw her

I begged and pleaded for her love,

but her mind was away elsewhere

dreaming of freedom above.

The last time I saw her

I said I'd wait forever.

The last time she saw me,

she said, "better late than never."

The last time I saw her, it was a summer day, the dogs were misbehaving and the sun was cruel on our backs as we walked the park.

She had never looked at me that way before and my heart feared the next words that would escape from her mouth.

"I'm leaving," she said.

I wanted desperately in that moment, to steal her away.

I didn't want to hear the rest.

I wanted to bombard her with our shared memories, make her feel bad about her thoughts, make her feel guilty about wanting to leave this, leave me.

I wanted to whip out my phone and point it at her face and say "see? See all these beautiful pictures? This is us! Together! Beautiful moments that we have shared over the years! Beautiful memories that will make you regret leaving me!"

But I didn't do all that, instead, I sat beside her in the grass as she explained herself, as she told me why she thought this was best for the both of us, and I knew deep down that she was right.

I was holding onto something that had fizzled, something that had run its course. I was allowing us to suffer through it, even though it was fading.

So, I did the wise thing.

I just nodded.

And kissed her one last time.

That was the worst summer day of my life.

The last time I saw her, she grabbed me into a hug after she told me she was leaving to go to a new school. She was the new beautiful, intelligent girl transferred to my school of horrors. Her cousin, Rosemary introduced us and we were like magnets since. I admired her because she wasn’t vacuous like most “pretty” middle school, popular girls. I was a unique cookie, and yet she took a keen interest, and I believe nothing would ever rip us apart until the last time I saw her.

“Miesha, I am moving away. My parents are forcing me.”

I sat on the bleachers staring past her into…nothing. I didn’t register until she pulled me into a hug and said, “I will never forget you.”

She let go…

And walked away… 

I just sat there as a single tear dropped down my puffy cheek.

That was the last time I saw her…

One night is not enough time to know a person, but I am grateful for the moment she gave me. I lost myself in it and I found her. I felt excited, safe and affirmed in a sexual way. S— was... The way her light green eyes held me in anticipation satisfied. Her beauty soared as I gazed at her soft face; her sharp and feminine shaped nose. Her lips a rose petal velvet and with their blissful touch my heart's race. Her smile genuine and true. This was not love at first sight, but something more fun, less stake driven. It was uninhibited enjoyment which if given time and care could bloom into something special, but our paths touched just too soon. I should think fate a criminal for this robbery. Alas! It is what it is and only fools waste time on what could have been. Goodbye my dear S— and goodbye to our little moment...

She was not herself, vulnerable like she had never allowed herself to be.

A tube breathing for her, in and out;

the sound still vibrates tears and haunts daylight.

Broken and swollen, eyes somewhere, nowhere near.

Desperate to let go, desperate to stay, caught in a middle of where she came,

and where she may go.

It's a day to remain, to the shadows of angels, life never to be the same.

A body, but not a person,

A mother, but not a human,

A soul, but not a spirit.

I will never forget the moment we decided, my last whispered words:

We did everything we could,

I know we held on too long,

and for that I'm sorry,

but now you're gonna get a really good high.

I love you mom.

And with a nod at the nurse, and an injection of morphine,

She was gone from there, and also now forever here.

The last time I saw her, she was made of diamond, so beautiful yet so unapproachable, so mesmerizing yet untouchable, so rigid, so dispassionate. She was hard like steel, I broke my hand when I tried to reach into her. It hurt me to learn that not even I had access to her. No matter the memories we shared, no matter how long the nights were where we poured our hearts into each other's hands, she still saw me as she saw the rest of the word. In the end, I was still kept outside of her, I was not permitted in. She didn't even open for me. The one person who she once let see right through her.

The last time I saw her

Should’ve been the last time anyone ever saw her

She’d been resplendent that day;

Shiny black hair and little black shoes,

Flowy white dress,  

As still as her chest,

Makeup smeared, hands folded.

Eyes closed, mouth curved.

Don’t mind me for saying this;

But much prettier than she had ever been in life.

The last time I saw her,

She was being lowered into the ground,

In a cherry-wood coffin.

Supposedly, never to be seen again.

So explain to me now,

Why she’s very much alive

And sitting-

Right there-

On my living room couch?

Her black and white polka dot nightgown twisted awkwardly around her armpit. I fix it, and it wakes her from the cancer drug induced sleep. She glares at me at first, but then realizes it’s me, her best friend. She barely manages a smile. So I sit on her bed. I hold her hand. I tell her it will be all right. Even though we both knew it wouldn’t be. She tries to talk back but her cancer brain won’t let her find the words. It’s ok, because I wouldn’t know how to answer. I talk about stupid stuff. I talk about a million things yet about nothing. I rub her hand and hum quietly to myself until she falls back asleep, a sleep she will never wake up from. When they come to take her body away, I don’t want to look, but I have to. The men wearing black are serious, solemn and professional as they move her into the mortuary van with the name Hennessey Funeral Home and Cremation painted on the side. I wonder if her nightgown is twisted around her armpit again.

The sound of my other friends wailing awakens my motherly instinct, which I didn’t know I had until now. And I make French toast. And tell myself it will be ok. Even though I know it won’t.

Beer And Broken Dreams

Beer And Broken Dreams

BJ Neblett

© 2015

The black Toyota Camry sported no sun roof, had a small parking lot dent to the right front fender, and a prominent purple Huskies decal. A Hillary For President bumper sticker screamed from the car’s rear bumper, while a pair of chrome palm trees, embracing the Washington state license plate, declared the vehicle’s Florida origins. Matched luggage, along with several hurriedly packed boxes cluttered the back seat and rear window shelf. They had been hastily captioned in green felt marker ink as Linens; Books; Knick Knacks, and Kitchen Stuff. The baggage that obscured my view of the sweet, sandy haired driver needed no identifying tags. I was familiar with their sad contents: Forgotten Promises; Broken Dreams.

A well manicured hand with a white tan line ringing the third finger appeared through the driver’s window. “Here, you finish it, I have to go…”

I took a long pull from the can of Bud Light. It was her favorite. And my final tangible link to her.

“Text me when you…” The rest of my words were lost to the revving motor.

Pulling away from the curb, the sedan’s tires slipped and hesitated for a moment on the wet pavement. I watched as the car’s taillights disappeared into the mist. The half empty container of warm beer in my hand was the perfect metaphor for our relationship. As a writer, some of my best work had come at the hands of heartache and frustration. Being totally crazy about someone you cannot have is great food for inspiration. I sensed a best seller in my future.

“Text me,” I repeated to the empty parking space.

A whisper of wind swept through a young maple tree; its branches reluctant to relinquish their hold on the changing season. They seemed to ask, “Where exactly lays that fine line between hopeless romantic and helpless fool?”

As I stood there alone in the rain, I discovered three things about myself: I am a hopeless romantic. A hopeless romantic is a pretty cool and amazing thing to be. And I don’t care much for the taste of beer.

The last time i saw her was a moment of uncensored revelation. A fraction of time that unveiled untainted expression. The remnants of cohersion withered by the wayside and the sheath of deception quickly melted away. A Searing pain pierced my core as ice formed in the hole in my heart, quickly encasing it. Heat scorched my trembling hands as anger raced through my veins like lava on a mountain top. Then, like death, numbness forced my body still. A glare covered my eyes as she searched them for forgiveness. My arms too weak to push her away, dangled as she reached out to me. My lips released frost from my icy heart as i struggled to breath. Like poisoned prey I simply existed as she whispered in my ear one last time. "I'm sorry".