It was that gut-wrenching ache in the very pit of who you are, the one that screams out in pain for the loss of what once was, that claws against the walls of your stomach like if it fights hard enough, it can somehow capture and hold onto what never could truly be.
It was desperation and despair in equal measure.
It was a gaping hole never to be filled again.
It was an untouchable feeling of having the source of all the joy in your life ripped away suddenly and violently, and the horrific realization that you’d never have it again.
There were no words for this pain.
There were no words for this torture.
There were no words for this strange purgatory where I felt dead inside, and somehow more alive than ever.
There were no words.
So, I wiped my face. I took a deep breath.
And I attempted to paint it.
The Art of Hope
“So, I have some news,” Angela said to me that weekend. We were on the floor of her dorm room, her half-finished model of an art museum in the corner while we painted our toes.
Or rather, while she painted her toes. I just sat there and stared at mine.
“Please tell me it’s good news, because I don’t think I could handle bad right now.”
“It is good… but also kind of bad.”
My shoulders sagged. “Oh God, what?”
“Well,” she said, pulling her shoulders back as she applied another coat of strawberry-red paint to her big toe. “My professor has been hired to work on a project in Shanghai, a commercial skyscraper. The bank behind the project wants it to have a futuristic feel, and since that’s become my style… she’s asked me to go with her.”
I balked. “Go with her? As an intern?”
“More like as a partner.”
“A partner?!”
“I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” she said, holding her hands up, the paint-dipped brush between her knuckles. “But… yeah. She said this is the perfect project for me, and she thinks we would collaborate well on it. She’s going to pay me. Like, an actual architect’s salary.”
“Angela, this is huge,” I said, reaching over to squeeze her wrist. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile, but it slipped as fast as it appeared. “That leads me to the not-so-great news.” Her eyes met mine. “The project starts next week.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand, we still have two weeks before the program here ends.”
“I know. They’re having another professor step in to finish out the term for her, and if I want to be on the job, I have to go early, too.”
I swallowed. “How early?”
“Wednesday.”
I closed my eyes on a stinging breath, my chest burning, eyes watering beneath the lids. I was supposed to have time to mourn the inevitable loss of Angela. We were supposed to go through our final projects together and get our grades together and go to the airport together before we went our separate ways. Even then, I knew we’d be lifelong friends. I would never lose her.
Some of that hadn’t changed with her news, but a lot of it had.
I didn’t have weeks with her now.
I had days.
“Well,” I said when I blinked my eyes open, forcing a smile. “We should celebrate. And we need to go shopping. What’s the weather like this time of year in China?”
Angela frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I promised her, and when she gave me a look that told me she didn’t believe me, I laughed and crawled over to wrap her in a hug. “I am, you brat. I’m okay, and I’m happy for you — ecstatic, really. But I’m also going to miss you, and that’s okay, too. I’m allowed to be sad you’re leaving me early, and also happy for the opportunity at the same time.”
“Yes,” she said on a sigh, nuzzling into me. “I would feel the same way.”
“But we do need to celebrate,” I said, pulling back. “Put a top coat on those nails and let’s go get some wine.”
“Deal!”
Angela shook the bottle of clear coat before carefully removing the brush and covering her fresh polish with the quick-dry.
“So,” she said with her eyes on the paint. “How are you? It’s been a week now since…”
“Since Liam left without a trace,” I finished for her, leaning back against the wall and folding my arms over my chest. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I think I’m… numb. I’m going through the motions every day, but it feels like watching a movie or a music video, as opposed to living my actual life.”
Angela’s lips tugged to the side. “That makes sense.” A pause. “And you still haven’t heard from him?”
“No. I tried getting his personal email from the registrar, but they can’t give out student information unless you’re family. His school email was shut down. I never got his phone number… I never even thought to ask for it.” I shook my head. “He was always just here, you know? We were together. It seemed like we had infinite days ahead, and I never thought about what came next because, at least at first, I didn’t think there would be a next. It was just here and now. This summer.”