Page 145 of Tiny Fractures

Ronan seems lost, his eyes fixed on something still out of the camera’s view. It looks as though he just saw something profound, life-changing, and Vada gives me the answer I’m looking for.

“He just laid eyes on you for the first time,” Vada says to me, tears in her eyes. And I realize that what I’m looking at is the moment right before I met Ronan. I recognize the jeans that sit low on his hips, his dark-green hoodie.

“You’re staring,” Shane says in the footage.

“Who is that?” Ronan asks, his voice tender, his eyes still fixed on who I now know to be me.

“That’s Cat, Vada’s friend. She moved here a little while ago. She’s been hanging out with Vada and Tori a bunch and they invited her tonight, so… She’s cute, huh?”

This is too much; I can’t take it. The past six days suddenly crash into me and threaten to suffocate me. I try desperately to breathe, but the room spins around me. Is this what it was like for Ronan? I feel eyes on me, hands on my shoulders, and I look up into Shane’s face. I realize I’m crying. No, not crying, sobbing. Everyone is staring; Ronan’s grandmother’s eyes are sad.

“Cat, it’s okay. He’s going to be alright,” Shane says, his voice soft, reassuring.

I shake my head violently, unable to speak through the sobs. I need to get away for just a moment to collect myself, to breathe, and am able to shake Shane’s hands loose. I storm out of the living room and up the stairs, tripping and falling to my knees, but I don’t let that stop me. I get up, pushing myself forward, still sobbing violently as the tears, the pain, and the fear of losing Ronan finally force their way out of me.

Once up the stairs, I turn to my left and into Ronan’s room, shutting the door behind me. I stop dead in my tracks with tears streaming down my hot cheeks.

Everything is untouched. Ronan’s bed is unmade from when he got up the morning after we made love for the first time—my first time. A navy-blue hoody is draped over the chair by his desk; a towel lies on the floor along with the jeans and shirt he wore when I last saw him; his black ball cap is tossed in the corner; and Onyx, sweet Onyx, is curled into a ball on Ronan’s bunched-up blanket.

“Hi Onyx,” I whisper, my voice still shaking. I move toward the bed carefully so as not to startle her. I realize I haven’t seen her downstairs at all, and she’s usually such a friendly dog.

She raises her head toward me, propping her ears up, wagging her tail just a smidge.

“You miss him too, don’t you?” I move to lie next to her. She doesn’t leave, instead sighing a dog’s sigh and leaning herself into me. I place my tear-stained cheek on Ronan’s pillow, closing my eyes. With one deep breath I inhale his scent, and fresh tears spill from my tired eyes, seeping into the fabric.

“I miss him so much, Onyx,” I whisper, stroking the dog’s fur. “I need him to wake up. I can’t be without him. I love him more than words can say. Why doesn’t he wake up?”

I lie with Onyx, petting her, breathing in Ronan’s comforting scent, taking in the silence of his room and allowing my tears to flow freely for a few minutes longer. Nobody comes to check on me while I seek comfort in the space that belongs only to Ronan. They all respect my need for privacy.

Eventually, my tears dry and I sit up, letting my eyes sweep the four walls of the room. I don’t think I ever paid much attention to it because Ronan and I haven’t spent all that much time here and, when we did, I was usually preoccupied by Ronan’s presence. But I soak it all in now, purposefully paying attention to the little details. I notice the bag that holds his hockey equipment leaning against the wall next to the window by his bed and the small shelf that’s positively overflowing with books like the Iliad and the Odyssey, The Fountainhead, The Trial, and Antigone.

I move over to his desk, running my hands over a couple of graded exams on which Ronan received full marks each time. I feel the indentations of his handwriting on the paper, closing my eyes and imagining Ronan’s left hand moving across the pages. I know it sounds dark, but the last few days have been so devoid of his life force, it’s as though he’s temporarily left this Earth. His handwriting makes it feel as though he’s real, like he’s still with me, that he wasn’t just a dream.

A knock on the door forces me to open my eyes, and I turn to see Ronan’s grandmother standing in the doorframe, her expression warm as she smiles at me.

“That was a bit much to take in, wasn’t it? That little movie?” she asks, alluding to that last footage where Ronan saw me for the very first time.

I nod, my hand still resting on the papers on Ronan’s desk.

She moves to sit down on the bed. “You know, I never truly thought that love at first sight was real, but your friend Zack’s movie, Ronan’s face… If that isn’t evidence that it exists, then I don’t know what is,” she says. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” I say, and go to sit next to her. “It just feels like so long ago that I got to hear his voice, feel him next to me, and be with him. I know it’s only been six days, but it feels like a lifetime. I wish he would wake up.” I lower my head, feeling drained, and the longing for Ronan overwhelms me.

“He will,” she says confidently. “I can feel it in my bones. And I know my grandson—Ronan is a force of nature that can’t be stopped, try as you might. You might subdue him for a little while, but he’ll come back stronger every time. Come on, let’s go back downstairs.”

We leave the comfort of Ronan’s queen-size bed and make our way back downstairs. Shane offers to drive me home while Frank heads back to the hospital, where he will once again spend the night. I accept, realizing how drained I really feel, and seek the warmth and comfort of my own bed the moment I arrive at home.

Friday, September 3rd

Cat

The next morning I’m up before sunrise, just like I have been for the past six days. I can’t find any rest even while I sleep. I toss and turn all night, feeling exhausted when I wake up. I have a hard time falling asleep, a hard time staying asleep, and feel drained throughout the day. My dreams are confused. They feel clammy and uncomfortable, though I never remember what I dream about. It’s a jumble of fear and chaos, darkness and pain.

Last night when I came home, my mom could see the emotional strain of the past days in my face and she suggested I take something to help me sleep, but I declined. I want to be alert, want to be able to receive any news—good or bad—as soon as I can. But there hasn’t been any news. Nothing has changed. Ronan is still not awake.

It’s Friday, one week exactly since my birthday. One week since Ronan and I made love. One week since my heart broke open completely, since I gave myself to the boy I love. And it’s been a week since I last saw his beautiful eyes, heard his voice, felt his touch, his warmth, smelled his scent. Every fiber of him was alive and happy when we were together the last time. The world shifted right under our feet, under our bodies. And then it all stopped.

But the world keeps turning, moving forward. Except, I don’t. It’s Groundhog Day for me. Every day is the same routine that feels like it’s been going on for infinity. I wake up and I check to see if I missed any calls or messages, if there’s anything new. Each day I hope that today is the day he wakes up, that I know for sure he’s going to be okay, that he’ll be with me like I yearn for him to be.

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