Meeting Again

In my dream, everything was calm. The wind weaved musically between the tall yellow grass, and the grey sky sprinkled with swirling cotton clouds went on forever.

I touched my cheek numbly, and was surprised to find out that my fingers were somewhat cold. I closed my eyes and breathed in. Charlie died, I reminded myself, so of course I'd be cold. I hadn't really been warm since he had died, no matter how many blankets I wrapped around myself. But cold wasn't bad. Cold was good. Calming.

There seemed to be a thick blanket in the air, cloaking everything in a steady daze, like a bottle of oddorless syrup was enveloping the world and myself. But it was calm. The syrup did not freak me out. Neither did the warm feeling at my feet, though that didn't really make much sense, seeing as there was grass all around me. There was a very thin white dress hugging me, the nearly transparent fabric twisting against my body with the wind. It felt good.

I heard someone clear his throat, and my eyes fluttered open. I knew what I was going to see before I actually saw it.

Charlie chuckled at me, tilting his head to one side in amusement. Irony was strong in his grey eyes. Well, dark humor had always been a personal favorite of his. "You look like you're havin' fun." He scratched the fresh stubble that had grown on his face just the week before,speculating. He was wearing his red checkered shirt, though it was filled with one big, crimson stain on the side. He didn't seem to notice.

"It's nice here, isn't it?" I cut off his brooding by taking a small step in his direction. I stopped when we were a few steps away. I didn't want to shatter this moment. Briefly, I wondered what it would be like to touch him. Would he be warm? The thought flashed across my mind, alluring and taunting, and I felt my jaw lock. No, I wouldn't check. I wouldn't let myself check, no matter how much I wanted to.

"Well, it's not perfect, but it's home," Charlie grunted honestly. He shoved both his big hands in his pants pockets, looking at the horizon.

I raised a sardonic eyebrow at him, though my throat clogged up so suddenly it started to hurt. "This is home?" I asked, my voice dry.

Charlie looked at me from the corner of his eye, and I thought I saw him smile before turning away again. "It's close enough."

We both stayed quiet for a few more minutes. "So I guess you really are dead, huh?" I finally said, breaking the silence. I expected him to say something like 'subtlety never had been one of your greater qualities', or some other banter, but he didn't say anything. It was my turn to tilt my head, in question. I could see and feel my golden locks sliding off my shoulder and onto the back of my dress.

Charlie looked at me from the corner of his eyes again, though this time there was a faint flicker of concern. Confusion crossed his face. "Dead?" It seemed the word caught him by complete surprise.

My eyes widened. "Aren't you?" I asked in a soft whisper, my voice barely carrying through to him. The sound of the wind was suddenly too strong to hear properly.

Charlie shook his head sharply, ruffling his sandy hair. "No!" he cried out, and the agony that shown from his eyes frightened me to my core. My body automatically wanted to take a step back, but at the same time tried desperately to take a step forward. It settled for a nasty jerk that kept me in my place. Charlie took a step toward me, and his expression turned soft. "I mean, I don't think so. I don't... I don't remember."

"You... don't... remember?" My voice was gentle, too gentle to really belong to me.

Charlie nodded shakily.

"What don't you remember, Charlie?" I could feel my face lose color as my hysteria rised. "Do you remember me? Do you remember your mom? Your guitar? The art teacher with those really high heals?"

Charlie started to smile, evidently amused with my reaction. "Of course I do. We've been best friends since grade school, so I really doubt that I could forget you pest even if I wanted to." He rolled his eyes. It was a gesture that was so much like him that I nearly cried. But the weird calm of the dream was making the ache in my gut quiet down, at least enough for me to speak and think coherently. "And yeah, my mom, my guitar which I worked my ass off to buy... It's all here." He tapped his head, and gave me a brilliant smile, like a little boy all hyped up and proud of himself.

I actually felt a tear slide down my cold face. It left a hot trail, which immediatly turned frosty and prickly. "Charlie, do you remember the truck?"

Charlie's smile faltered. "The... truck?" he asked, as if testing the words on his tongue.

I nodded, and wiped my tear with the back of my hand, though another one streaked down to take its place. "Yeah. It was big and red, and really new and pretty. GMC, not two years old. You would've loved it."

Charlie threw his head back in laughter. "You remember the brand?" He was still grinning happily, like a kid on christmas morning. He clapped his hands together in pure joy. "That's awesome! You never remember the brand!"

I grimaced, then smiled weakly at him. A sob was building in the back of my throat. "Yeah. I had to." My voice broke. "It was the truck that hit my best friend."

A look of puzzlement replaced the happiness. I saw Charlie struggling to understand, ruffling his own hair again. He even passed a hand through his stubble. I almost smiled at the old 'deep in thought' gesture. "But... that can't be right," he finally said, and every word seemed to tear from him, as if he couldn't even phrase the words.

Tears started fogging my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered with a raspy breath. "I'm so sorry, Charlie, I'm so sorry, I was right there on the other side of the road and you were supposed to come meet me and we were joking, we were laughing about something stupid, I can't even remember what and -"

"We were laughing about the Thompson's green paint job, and how it was massively ugly," Charlie interjected, and understanding slowly flickered in his eyes. "We said it was like living in a water melon."

I nodded, and I was using both my hands to wipe my face by then, but the tears just wouldn't let up. "Y-yes, and then... and then, we both didn't see, but there was this honking sound, and then that red blur and then..."

"And then you screamed."

I tried to smile through my tears. "Yeah. My famous girl scream." I rubbed my right eye and peeked at him. "You heard that?"

"Obviously." Charlie bit his lower lip, looking at the horizon, untroubled by that dry piece of sarcasm. "Things are... missing, inside my head. Like, I don't get this place, but it also feels... right."

"It's not covered in syrup?" The thought thoughtlessly popped out of my mouth.

Charlie smiled and rolled his eyes. "Only you," he said under his breath, "Would think of that."

I blushed a bit, and the heat of blood rushing to my cheeks felt incredibly good. "You have no idea how much I've missed this," I said, breathing slowly in.

"Oh," said Charlie, as if it hadn't occured to him. "That's right. Time must be different for you. If I am... gone-" He made a face. "-Then how long has it been?"

"One week." I waited a few seconds to let that sink in.

"Wow," Charlie finally said. "How's my mom?"

"She's shattered," I said, knowing there really was no point in lying.

Charlie's shoulders hunched, and it seemed like his knees would cave. I tried to reassure him before the pain could take him down. "But no one is letting her be alone for one minute," I said fiercly. "We're all staying over at your house with her. Though no one touched your room yet."

"Touched my room yet?" Charlie raised both his eyebrows, which was more like himself.

I tried for a smile. "Yeah. We're thinking about donating your clothes."

"Yeah, I'd like that. God, it feels like I really am dead, huh?" And with out any warning, he crashed to his knees and burst out in tears. The fluent liquid streamed down his cheeks to his pointy chin, saturating in his stubble and shirt. A cry pushed its way out of him by force, and he shook along with it by my feet.

I started to lean down, with my hand stretched forward, but stopped myself in time. No, don't touch him! I felt my own tears respond. We had been friends for so long, that his pain and confusion and hurt were also mine. I crawled on the ground next to him, and I still couldn't feel any poking or itching grass, though that was the last thing on my mind. "I'm so sorry, Char, I'm so sorry I couldn't stop that truck, couldn't tell you to stop, or look, or something..."

Charlie opened one eye to look at me, but the rest of his face still held such unfathomable sorrow. "It - It wasn't your fault," he cried. "Don't feel guilty. Don't you dare feel guilty about this, you hear me?"

I smiled this wobbly, wet smile, through my tears. "But I love you so much... I miss you. I can't sleep at nights. I'm so cold all the time, and I can't eat."

Charlie held his head in his hands. "I'll never play my guitar again," he said, and his voice was so choked that it was gruffer than usual. "I'll never walk by the lake again in summer, and the air conditioning in my room will never break down again and I'll try to fix it, and... and I won't have a job, and I won't be a parent, and I won't get yelled at by the stupid art teacher who wears heals and hates me-"

My tears had been building up during his speech, so much that I was now curled into a ball on the ground, shaking with sobs. "I'm so sorry," I blubbered at the dark blurry shape that was my best friend behind the film of tears. "I'm so sorry, Charlie..."

"It's not your fault. Remember that." Charlie seemed to get himself somewhat together. He glanced around us, looking at the place with whole new eyes, I imagined. He leaned down toward me, as if wanting to help me up, or embrace me, and my body rolled back in response. Fear widened my eyes and my mouth dropped open. Charlie's wounded expression was like twisitng a knife in my stomach. "Oh, no..." I whispered in horror. I scrambled to my knees, and I was very briefly aware that my hands were getting dirty with soil. "I'm so sorry!" I tried to touch Charlie's arm but he jerked away. His jaw was taught. "It's alright," he said without looking in my eyes. "It's alright, that's natural: I'm - I'm... I'm dead, so it makes sense..."

"No, it doesn't make sense!" I weeped. "Nothing makes sense! None of it!" I grabbed his shoulders and pressed him to my chest. I could feel his warmth through the thin white cloth. Gently this time, I pressed my cheek to the top of his head. "I miss you," I said quietly.

Charlie's arms wrapped themselves around my back with strong confidence. "I'll miss you, too. Take care of my Mom, alright? And I know it isn't fair, but don't go hating on God now, okay?"

I chuckled. "Is that what you're worried about? That my belief in God will fade?"

I imagined Charlie rolling his eyes. "Your belief in God can't just fade. What I meant is, don't be too angry with him. God makes the right choices."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "I seriously doubt that, you know."

"Yeah, I do. If nothing at all, I know you."

"So... you're really dead?"

Charlie considered this briefly. "Yeah, I think so. The words seem to fit."

I hugged him to me tighter. "I love you."

"Yeah, I love you too."

The edges of the field shimmered, and so did the sky.

I woke up with tears slowly streaming from my eyes. I tried to wipe them with the back of my hand. I shut my eyes tight and stifled a sob as words came to my head. I miss you so much.

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The very very very old poem that inspired this story: