Always and forever. Now I have to live an always and forever life without him? Without his smile, his laugh, his jokes to keep me going. Did he ever know how every conversation healed something in me I didn't know was broken? Did he realize that, yes, I would be okay without him, but I don't want to have to be? Did he realize how much I loved him? He took a piece of me I can't get back. I can't get him back. Now he's always and forever gone, and I just... have to move on.

***

That night, I couldn't seem to fall asleep. I tried, but I kept imagining him jumping into the river. Why a river? I couldn't bring myself to believe that he was actually gone. Forever gone. My very best friend. I kept rereading the letter, trying to read between the lines, searching for some secret message that he wasn't dead. As if I could somehow find out he was alive and hiding somewhere. Only I knew that wasn't the truth. He is dead. He had committed suicide less than 24 hours ago. I smelled the paper, hoping to find his scent. Anything to remind me that he had been here, that he had existed beyond the words he left behind. I lay down with the paper beside me. I realized I hadn't shed a single tear. Only then did they come... and they didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I cried until I almost couldn't breathe anymore. I hugged the paper tightly, trying not to damage it with my tears. I cried until my body became weak. That was all I was capable of now. Drowning in my own tears. Drowning in a river, just as James had. 

***

I hear the slam of a door. Startled, I wake up. Only, I'm not in my room anymore. Wait, is this James's room? No, it can't be. How did I end up here? I move to get out of bed, only to realize my feet don't automatically touch the floor. They don't touch it at all. In fact, my feet are tinier, my legs, my arms, my whole body, actually. What is happening? I hop off the bed and walk around the room. I look up at the pictures on the wall. They're all photos of little James. In every single one, he's either smiling or laughing. I remember his laugh. It was nearly silent. Whenever we were on calls, laughing until we couldn't breathe, there were moments I couldn't tell if I was laughing alone until he finally took a breath. I always found it odd, but it was another quirk of his that I loved. I hear his mom's voice calling,

"James!"

Confused, I leave the room to look for him, but he is nowhere to be found. I walk down the helical staircase in his house. Family pictures line the staircase. I smile, remembering his stories. As I approach the last step, I see the final picture. It's just him and his dad. It's the only one where he doesn't look as happy. I knew he had issues with his dad, but I didn't think they started when he was this young. I notice a dent in the wall beside it. It looks as if a fist-

"There you are!" I turn, and it's James's mom.

"Oh my, I need to call someone to get that wall fixed. You know your father and his accidents."

"Anyway, dear, eat breakfast so we can get ready to head to your grandmother's house."

Confused, I listen to James's mom and sit down to eat the breakfast she made. The eggs and toast are nearly burnt. I look up at her.

"I almost forgot how bad of a cook you are."

She laughs, pretending to be offended.

"Well, that is not how you speak to your mother! Now I must punish you... Here comes... the tickle monster!"

She tickles my sides and neck, and I burst into laughter. My laugh fills the room. James's mom smiles widely. Mine is a combination of snorts and unmusical sounds, but hey, that is what a laugh is. I hear footsteps in the background, followed by a deeper voice.

"Can you keep it down?"

The words aren't particularly loud. They don't have to be. They send a shiver through me, and my body stiffens. I have never felt words as cold as those before. My laughter catches in my throat. I look toward him, searching his face to figure out how much trouble I'm in, though I can't remember doing anything wrong. Mom was only tickling me.

"Sorry," I say.

I don't know what I'm apologizing for. I only know I've bothered him, and I want to make it right. But he isn't my dad. What does it matter? Why does his disapproval feel like something I need to fix? Why am I already trying to make myself smaller?

So many questions fill my brain, but I don't have time to process them. James's mom's face turns serious. No longer playful, she almost looks scared. She tells me to finish breakfast and go upstairs to get ready for our visit to his grandmother's house. I obey. James's dad gives me a threatening look, one that makes me unsure of what might happen if I disobey. I'm not willing to find out. As I walk back upstairs, I notice the dent in the wall again. Only this time, I really see it. It isn't just a dent. I can see the indentations where his knuckles must have struck. He hit the wall.

Going back up the staircase, I look more closely at the photos. James looks cold beside his father, almost petrified of something hidden behind his smile. His eyes seem like silent cries for help, waiting for someone to notice. To any stranger, they are a picture-perfect family. Truthfully, I saw them that way for the longest time. Did I misinterpret it all?

 I enter the room and take it all in. Everything is still here, but something feels different. I look around at the pictures on the wall again, wondering how many memories are hidden behind each one. How many moments did James experience that he never told me about? How many things did he keep to himself? I sit on the edge of his bed and look down at my hands. I wonder how old I am now. How much time has passed? How many more versions of James am I going to meet? How did I get here?

***

I close my eyes.

When I open them, everything has changed. The room is bigger, the toys gone, replaced by scattered clothes and unfamiliar things. I look down at my hands. They're bigger, too. I'm older. I hear laughter coming from somewhere outside the room. A familiar laugh. I follow it, and for a moment, I forget everything else. There he is. James. My James. He's laughing. And I laugh, too.