“it has been six and a half years since you died” by Julia in her sister’s bed

Friday August 10, 2018
10:48pm
5 minutes
Welcome to the Club
Marion Winik

I don’t remember the day you died but I remember how you lived. Your chest was an open x-ray. Here, the place where love scarred you. Here the place hope left. You smiled through your eyes, through the pain, and we knew we were getting the best of you left in you. We knew you were telling the truth when you said you wanted us to find what makes us happy. I remember how you sang Elvis at New Years and Easter and my dad’s birthday. You left every room you entered brighter. You entered every room.

“it has been six and a half years since you died” by Sasha on her balcony

Friday August 10, 2018
7:18pm
5 minutes
Welcome to the Club
Marion Winik

I wake up in a cold sweat. Felix is sleeping at my feet, like he always does, and when I jolt awake he digs his nails into my ankles. “Stop it!” I yell. He does. He comes up to lie beside me, purring. Cats are dicks. Then, it hits me like a tree falling – I missed it. Oh my God. How could I? I just… It’s been six years since you died, six years yesterday, and I missed the anniversary. I didn’t light a candle. I didn’t call Mia. It was just any other Thursday, where I drank a green smoothie, shat, went to work, procrastinated, stirred the pot in a team meeting, asked Don if he wanted to make out in the handicapped washroom (he said, “No thanks, Becca…”), came home, went to yoga, made pirogies for dinner, cuddled Felix on the couch while I watched three episodes of Queer Eye and then I went to bed.