James

The morning where the rain wasn't falling.
The air that didn't hold a tinge of guilt.
All came whirling when I looked at my reflection.
The splotchy skin.
The red eyes.
The way that hiccups still escaped my sobbing mouth.
But I looked into the mirror and saw my large forehead. How the thin, oily strands of hair clung around my ears. But in the cold green eyes, I saw something someone told me about.
I think the word was, adventitious.
I hadn't heard that word before he had said it. That's why it stuck.
He was holding me. We were arguing before he grabbed my wrist. The wrist that was attached to the hand I was going to slap him with. Because he told me I was 'Too damn adventitious.'
And I thought that was a bad thing. In his context, it was.
But to be a person to go with the flow of things...
That's a good character.
And as I was huffing, and he was fuming, his grip released and I started laughing.
It wasn't the tiny giggles that bubble out from a child's' throat when they find something cute. Oh no. It was the laughter that was so obnoxiously loud that startled both of us.
It sounds like an odd memory. And you may ask why I like it so much.
Because after I stopped laughing, his face froze.
And my breathing stopped.
I wasn't scared.
I was...
Adventitious.
Because I let him kiss me.
And then I let him kiss me again.
And again.
He held me then. His hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer as I laced my shaken hands through his silky brown hair.
I never felt so light until it happened.
We practically fell down the beach steps, crashing into the sand in a fit of the childish giggles.
James.

Seven months ago.
And here I stand in front of my mirror. Greasy brown hair and puffy eyes.

I dreamt of him.
Again.
It was the memory of us fighting again.
But this time I truly did slap him.
And he never spoke to me again.
But as he was rushing off in a fit of rage, he turned onto the road. Screaming at me.
"It's okay for control, Abbi. But don't always follow the way of life. Do something to manipulate it."
Because then he stands there with tears in his eyes.
He's trying to help.
And I see the way the light of the setting sun falls onto his side. How it reflects into his eyes and bloody Hell, he catches me out of breath.
And he steps forward.
Five steps from the sidewalk.
Four.
Three.

But the light on his side isn't from the deep reds of the sun.
It's his blood. Seeping through his shirt.
And he knew.

I woke up then. Before he could fall to the road.
That's how I woke up sobbing.
I think I was crying during the dream too.
I think I knew.

Seven months ago, my James died.
The James who taught me control, freedom and love.
My James. Who woke up at four in the morning, would jog all the way to my front yard (which was well over 10 miles) and bring me coffee so we could drink it and go for another run.
My James. Who showed me how to surf.
Who I punched in the eye because he was such a jack ass.
Who I kissed one thousand times because he was so sincere.

My James. Who was hit by a car while we were walking home after the best surf of the year.
Who never ran with me again.
Who never cried with me when my father passed away.
Or screamed with utter joy when my sister walked across her Ballet performance for the Black Swan.

My James. Who I loved so heartachingly. So wholefully.

So I stand in front of my mirror without his lips caressing my shoulder.
With my dirty hair and sullen eyes.

And I bring the cold water onto my face.

My body burning from the sadness revolting within me.

And I breathe.

Because James isn't breathing right now.

And I want to breathe for him.