The Last Day

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There’s a polaroid I keep, jammed into my phone case. It faces the phone, so no one else has ever seen it. 

But the back of it faces outward, and scrawled in silver marker is a smiley face.

Thank you, and I’m sorry.

_____________________

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“So it’s tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“You’re really leaving, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry man. But I kind of hope it goes badly. I kind of hope it doesn’t succeed.”

“…”

“Are you gonna call me selfish?”

“…no. But you know how long I’ve wanted this for.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“It just sucks man. It sucks it’s come to this point. It sucks that time has passed so quickly. It sucks that it’s tomorrow. It just sucks man.”

“Can’t say I didn’t tell you.”

“You only told me this year! You only told me this year. How long have I known you for now? And you only told me this year.”

“But you’ve known for a while now, haven’t you?”

“…fucking hell.”

“See?”

“I never thought it’d actually come.”

“But you knew.”

“Yeah. It still sucks though. I don’t want it to go well tomorrow. I don’t want it. I don’t want it at all.”

“I know. I’m sorry man. You were the best there was.”

“Fuck off.”

“Thank you.”

“Fuck.”

“And I’m sorry.”

_____________________

What happened after is a bit hazy. I remember cursing the tears on my face, because I wanted my last memory of you to be clear. Under the streetlight, with your hands tucked into that denim jacket of yours. 

You held me for a bit, a familiar scent I’ll never quite find again. The wind blew shivers into us, and you dabbed the tears from my eyes. And it had always been me, who shed tears. And it had always been you, dabbing them.

That one last look, soft with concern. 

_____________________

But the next day, you did succeed. You and your stupid milestones, you and your stupid goals. You, so excellent and so meticulous. If you could’ve failed at one thing, why couldn’t it had been that? If you could’ve failed, just once, and realised that it was okay? 

But you didn’t. Of course you didn’t. 

We all got an email that day, and you dressed us all in black. You managed to organise everything before you died. Because of course you did. And I’ve got that denim jacket of yours now. It’s in my closet, two sizes too big. With a bunch of your other clothes as well. And I’ve never worn it out, but I spray your cologne on it every so often. On those nights where I still message your empty number. On those nights where I go through our old photos. On those nights where I listen to old voice recordings because I’m forgetting how to talk to you. 

_____________________

The morning you killed yourself, I knew exactly what happened. You would have woken up, five minutes before six, as you do every morning. You would have made your bed, brushed your teeth. You would have put on your favourite t-shirt, the one all worn and fading, from a concert we went to a few years ago. You would’ve gone for a morning walk, you would’ve fed the ducks by the pond one last time. You would’ve grabbed one last coffee, and you would’ve had the exact change. You would’ve stopped by that one house in our neighbourhood that smells of jasmine. You would’ve paused, and taken it in for a moment longer than usual. You would’ve pet the orange cat at the intersection. You would’ve done the long loop around to my place. You would’ve jumped the low brick fence and walked up to my window. You would’ve stopped yourself from tapping on it, because you would’ve known I spent all night crying. You would’ve leant against the wall for a little. You would’ve apologised to me one last time. You would’ve gone back home, and it would’ve been all within the hour. You would’ve organised everything, looked over everything one last time. Then you would’ve done it. 

The morning you killed yourself, it was just another task on the agenda. 

There was no milk waiting to spoil in the fridge. There were no clothes waiting to dry on the washing line. There was no trash waiting to be taken out. 

There were boxes, neatly labelled. A single plate on the rack, drying. The automated emails to everyone you deemed necessary to tell. 

There was no mess, just a quietness.

_____________________

There’s a polaroid I keep, jammed into my phone case. It faces the phone, so no one else has ever seen it. 

The back of it faces outward, and scrawled in silver marker is a smiley face.

Thank you, and I’m sorry.