𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐉. 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐡 wasn't actually born in Tennessee. He grew up forty miles south of the border, in a Mississippi river-town. He lived with his mother in a one-bedroom house that flooded every time the river swelled.
I lived two door...
Tennessee J. Walsh wasn't actually born in Tennessee. He grew up forty miles south of the border, in a Mississippi river-town. He lived with his mother in a one-bedroom house that flooded every time the river swelled.
His favorite book was Peter and Wendy, he loved to skip rocks, and he hated for other people to fight his battles. He had a scar over his left eyebrow and a tattoo over his heart. He slept with his mouth open, and he liked to have circles traced onto his back. He smelled of cigarettes and rain water, and he once walked straight through a tornado.
He looked the best in daylight, with wind in his hair and no shoes on his feet. He had eyes out of a story-book and the biggest smile anyone had ever seen. He laughed with his whole body; it was the sweetest sound a person could hear.
He wanted to be a writer. He wanted to see a thunderstorm on the beach.
And he never deserved what happened to him.
✩ ✩ ✩
I spend my days in my room. Because all of my favorite parts of him are here, with me, in this room. I can smell him on my pillow. I can feel his hands in my hair, and his lips on my skin. I watch the daylight turn to moonlight, and picture it cascading over his face.
I hear his words, every word he's ever spoken to me, but the one I like best: next time you see me, we're going to be okay, I promise. And I tell myself he meant it, and I tell myself I will see him again. Some day. In another life.
Because it's me and Tenny.
And we are inevitable.
Emily comes to see me. She sits on the edge of my mattress and places a hand onto my shoulder. She shouldn't be here—it's a Saturday, and Emily doesn't work on Saturday's, but I know she doesn't care about that.
Frankie comes, too. She places a vase of flowers on my nightstand, and I want to tell her to take it home. It doesn't smell like Tenny; it makes it harder to find him on my sheets: cigarette smoke on my pillow. But I can't find the words; I let her smooth my hair.
Aunt Kali comes. I hear Nolie knock at my door. I hear the baby Leni cry beyond the walls. I feel like a burden; I tell myself that I'm not. Because it's only a thought, and I know that I'm not.
I manage to crawl out of my bed, for the first time in what must be weeks. I don't go far, only to my closet to search for the last piece I have left of Tenny. It's right where I left it, tucked between the pages of Peter and Wendy, the copy he stole for me because he knew how much I liked it.
I read over his words. Once and then twice, and then again and again until I have them stitched into my memories. I see something special, every time I look at you. Merry Christmas, Your Lost Boy.
My tears stain the pages, and I cry until there aren't any tears left.
He loved me, I remind myself. He once told me he loved me more than anything else in this world. He wanted to be better for me, because he thought I was something special. He said he would fix it; he would get better for me.
I like to believe that he tried.
He promised he'd find me again. When he was right, and I was too. And maybe he can't keep his end of the deal, but I will still keep mine. So I won't call him, because I know he won't answer. And I'll go back to school because that's what he wanted—I'll become a doctor, or a psychiatrist, or someone who could have helped him. And I'll keep doing all the things I need to do because one day we will get our do-over, and I can say I did mine right.
I can say I kept my promise.
I hear Emily's words. They exist in the deepest parts of my mind, and I hear them sometimes when life gets too dark. I repeat them to myself, over and over, and sometimes I even write them down. I do it as many times as I need to, until I start to believe them.
The details, they never mattered.
What happened was not my fault.
It wasn't because of something I said. Not something I had done. There was nothing I could have done, or said, to change what happened. What happened to Tenny, was simply addiction, running its course.
We buried Tenny at River Bend Cemetery beside his father, whom he had never met. His mother was not in attendance. He was surrounded by his friends. People who had known him and people who had loved him.
He would have been surprised to see so many faces.
The Earth smelled of algae, rainwater, and cigarettes. There were bullfrogs, croaking in the distance. Someone even said they saw one, jumping straight into the dirt.
It was springtime, and there were rainclouds.
And I loved Tenny more than anything in this world.
... Author's Note:
We made it to the end! Thank you so much for reading along.
It means so much to me 💕
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