The Missing

19

It’s over. She’s gone. I sat there and held her as the life seeped out of her body. And afterward… afterward I was still sitting there. I didn’t want to move from her side, didn’t want to leave her there, but in the end, I had no choice.

She was my anchor, but when the mooring rope was cut, when the arms were ripped from their safe haven, everything fell apart. Now I’m drifting aimlessly. The solid ground on which my life rested no longer exists. The words that resound in my head are more true than ever. Without me, you are nothing.

As I drift, rocked back and forth on the swells of despair, I often summon up pictures of you.

Sometimes you come so close that I think I can stretch out an ice-cold, dripping-wet hand to touch you. I can feel you trembling.

Swift footsteps and low voices nearby, but I’m only vaguely aware of them. Something else feels much more urgent. Like the fact that the walls around us are about to cave in. I can see it, even though no one else seems to notice or understand. Everything is about to collapse, fall apart. First, her life. Now, mine.

I open my mouth, but the scream refuses to take shape. Not yet. But I know that it’s there somewhere, that it’s getting closer.

Something new will take over, a new voice, a different self. A clenched fist. A howl of fury.

Your life won’t be allowed to stay the same either. You too will be shaken to the core. You too will be obliterated.