Last Day

She liked taunting me with how she walked. She swore she didn’t know what I was talking about; but she knew how to drive a man crazy. The only thing I didn’t like about walking next to her was that I couldn’t watch her walk. We didn’t talk much when we were together. She was every bit of the female playboy really. I don’t know why she stuck around me. I was by no means a bad looking guy; but she had charisma and good looks. She maintained she didn’t love me; in a way, I guess we were only little more than friends with benefits.

I liked to think I was fine with that. I had no responsibilities. No anniversary, no family visits. Every so often I’d give her something and she’d smile coyly, and I’d wonder how many other gifts she had gotten just like that one from blue-eyed men, naive enough to fall for her. Or women, for that matter. She could have anyone. Sometimes people tried to hate her for the easy life she had on account of her looks. She laughed, winked at the barista, and got her free cinnamon latte. She knew she had an easy life; but she kept things to herself. She kept a lot of things to herself.

She wasn’t one to show much emotion; and I had never seen her down. I guess she just never had a reason to be down. Except that day we walked together, and she saw a missing child poster in the store window. They were everywhere; it sounds heartless to admit it but I hardly noticed them anymore. She stopped in her tracks and stared at it. Like I said, she never talked much, but she was strangely silent for the rest of the day. Before I left, she turned to look at me, and out of nowhere she asked me,
“If today was your last day, what would you say?” I didn’t know what to say.
“What if it was my last day?” she persisted. I still didn’t know. She smiled, and kissed me goodbye.

That was the last time I saw her alive. Two days later she was hit by a camaro, walking down West 58th like she did every morning. I walked home in silence. I wasn’t one to feel much; but I had never felt this numb before. I don’t remember checking my mail. I don’t even remember opening the front door or walking into the kitchen; the living room. I just remember sitting in the chair, with her letter in my hand. It smelled like her. She never sent me mail. There was no reason. I opened it mechanically; felt a small sting as I saw her immaculate, neat handwriting.

Jake, 
I don’t know why I feel like I have to write this. You will probably smirk and toss it aside. I don’t mind if you do. Our relationship has always been simple and unbound. It’s more than understandable that you would want to keep it that way. I am sorry I surprised you with my question tonight. I don’t know where it came from anymore than why I am writing this. Our relationship has never been so complex that there would be anything you would want to say but would feel hesitant about saying. The reason I asked is not so much because I believe you might have something to say; but because I realized that I would have something to say. 

I would want to tell you that I often wish we were more. I often wish we were something special. I wish I could speak my mind freely, whether I have a good day or feel sad. I know I don’t talk very much, and I think you’ve always liked that about me. Some things are best left unspoken and people of the past left unmentioned, but I want you to know that no one has ever made me feel as safe as you. No one has ever looked at me like you do. I remember that time we were in Vienna because of my shoot. On our last day there, we had the day to ourselves. You spent all morning twirling my hair around your finger, and looking at me. There was so much I wanted to say in that moment. So much I wished we were; so much I thought about us being. 

I probably sound like a little child. Please don’t think you’ve ever for a moment let me believe we could be more. I am not trying to complicate anything. I just realized that this is something I would want you to know; and so I’m telling you now. Like I said before; if you choose to simply smirk and toss this away, that is fine. I just wanted you to know. 

Brooke

I don’t know how many times I read it. I don’t know when I started crying. It was too late to start with the “I should have”s, and I wasn’t going to start now. There was only one thing I wanted to tell her; and I hoped there was some way she could read my thoughts now. Because all I wanted her to know; all I wanted to tell her on her last day, was that she didn’t have to wish we were something special.

We already were.