I loved to be the one hugging
him, tightly, beneath the covers when it was raining outside or above them,
naked, during the summer. Waking up was always one of the best parts of my day
because I would notice his scent so very close to me. It didn’t matter how much
we had moved during our sleep, it was always a please to feel him close to me.
And I think, even if I would never dare to speak on his behalf, that he thought
exactly the same thing. I think he loved me back, maybe even more.
During the week, we would wake up
at the same, even if the other had nothing to do that day. Sometimes it was me
who kissed him before leaving for work, some other days it was me staying
there, organizing my space and feeding the dog we had adopted together. Its
name was Bumper, because he loved to bump into everything. Maybe the thing was
that our dog was not very brilliant but we loved to imagine he had some traits
of both of us. Maybe he was clumsy like me and distracted like him.
Our favorite days, or at least
mine, were Saturdays and Sundays. We would wake up earlier and I would make
love to him for the longest time. I loved to explore his body slowly, even to
the point that I would turn off my cellphone in order not to be interrupted
from that beautiful task. I got to know every single centimeter of his body and
I was proud to know every single corner of him. After a mutual orgasm, we would
stay silent and then talk about our lives, fun little snippets every day.
That’s how I think I know him. I
think feeling his heart while sleeping, his breathing while we made love and
his warmth when we kissed goodbye, it all made me understand him and really
know who he was and what he wanted out of life. It didn’t take a long time for
us to hold hands in public after we had decided to properly date each other.
Same happened with our “sudden” decision to live together. We just knew we had
to, it was meant to be and only we could understand the feeling.
So, it’s pretty understandable
that the worst day of my life was the one when a policeman, a man with a stupid
face, came to our home and told me they had found him, the love of my life,
dead on the street. It happened one night, when he was coming from work during
one of those horrible thunderstorms that are becoming more and more common in
these parts. According to the policeman, he had been assaulted by a group of
men. They had taken his money, his belongings and had then proceeded to kick
him and punch him until one of them decided to pull out a gun.
My first question was simple:
“Where is he?” The idiot policeman repeated that he was dead and I didn’t ask
again. He offered to take me to the police station, so I grabbed a jacket and
went along. It was so very late; I was already in my pajamas. It was very
awkward, but I started crying in the police car, en route to my lover. I
couldn’t stop crying for a second, only when I had to step out of the car in
order to enter the police station. He never asked me if I was fine or needed
something.
The doctor running the morgue was
a woman and I was thankful for that. She seemed to care for every single one of
those corpses, of those dead people that for some reason were there, lying on
their back inside a gigantic freezer. I started shaking the moment I entered
the room and I lost any attempt to seem calm when she unveiled his body to me.
He was naked, of course, and very white and blue. It’s a silly thing, but the
first thing I thought was the fact that he hated both those colors.
I took one of his hands and
caressed it; I kissed his cheek and his forehead and held on to him. I could
hear the dumbass policeman asking me if that was my “partner” but I didn’t care
at all. I wanted to stay there forever, whit him, even if I had to die too. The
doctor was very silent and it was obvious she would have preferred for me not
to touch her patient but I couldn’t stop holding on to him. If I had let go, he
would have died forever and I just couldn’t afford that to happen.
However, all the crying and the
memories and the deep pain got to me. I had been waiting for him to come with
food, so my stomach was empty. The doctor, hours later, told me that could have
been one of the reasons for me to faint right there on the morgue. They carried
me to the police station’s infirmary and gave me some ramen soup, the kind you
can make in the microwave. I ate that hot cup in silence, still crying. A
massive headache began to brew.
His family came in some hours
later, after I had signed every single paper that had to be signed. Between
those, I had to ask a friend to go to my house and bring me our marriage
certificate, which only a few people knew about. It was hard for me to tell his
family that we had been married for a couple of months and that it had been his
decision not to tell them because he wanted it all to be a big reveal. He was
planning it all as if it was the marriage of two famous people. And know, it
had been me telling them all of it, with his cold body not too far away.
They were shocked to hear it all,
of course, but I honestly think I was the most affected by the tragedy. I
kissed him several times once more, before I had to leave in order to go home.
They promised they would arrange it all for his body to be prepared for
whatever I would decide to do. I took the doctor to the side, and told her we
had talked about being cremated together in a huge pyre, holding hands. She
gave me a nice smile and told me to get back to her the next day.
Sure enough, they sent his body
to a cemetery where he would be cremated and given to me. I called his family
to tell them all about it and they didn’t say much about it all. They seemed to
be still in quite a shock. They did show up to the place and we even held each
other for a moment, in silence. We saw his coffin, a very modest one; enter the
oven and the metal door close afterwards. Tears rolled down my face but I
didn’t cried loudly like before, I was under too much pain to do that again.
They gave me his ashes and the
doctor was there to pay her respects. I hugged her tight and cried some more.
She offered to take me home and I accepted. His family didn’t say another word
to me, even when I saw them looking at the urn with his ashes when they were
handed to me. I wanted to make peace; I wanted them to understand what we had
together. But it was too little too late, so I just went home with the doctor.
She kindly stayed for a while but I have to say it was better when she left.
That’s because I spoke to him for
a while, as frankly as we had always been when he was alive. I told him he was
the best thing to ever happen in my life and that I was proud that I got to
meet such a wonderful person in such a shitty world. I thanked him for being my
lover and husband, for making me enjoy life and people even more and for always
been there for me. I hoped him the best for his afterlife, if there was one. If
there wasn’t, I wanted him to know I would always be his.
Another storm was brewing when I
opened my bedroom window. The wind was beginning to howl. One strong current
was enough to take the love of my life away from me. I saw him float away and
then disappeared into the dark clouds floating not so far away.
I left the urn right there and
then dropped on the bed. His smell was still there. I closed my eyes to feel
him one more time and it did work. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever
felt. However, when I opened my eyes everything was real and raw. He wasn’t
there anymore.
