Cemetery Drive

It was a beautiful autumn day in Belleville, New Jersey; the leaves were the perfect blend of yellow, orange and red, the grass was still green, only getting dry and brown at the very tips of the blades, the sky a crisp blue.

He would have loved this day if he was still here.

I was sitting on the balcony of my apartment sipping some spearmint tea, puffing hard on a Marlboro, my Maine Coon cat Roger sitting in the chair opposite me basking in the sun; one of his favorite pastimes.

I finished my cigarette and was about to light another when my phone rang. Sighing I got up out of my spot to answer the phone before the answering machine - which had no more room for messages - picked up the call.

I pressed the talk button and put the phone to my ear.

“Nicole? ... Come on answer me, please.”

It was Kyle, my best friend in the whole world. He could make me laugh until my sides hurt and was always there with a shoulder to cry on and a cigarette to pollute my lungs with.

He phoned me every day, begging me to talk, which I never did. But he was stubborn and wouldn’t give up on me, even though I was a lost cause.

Things were different before the accident, Kyle would come over to the apartment and the three of us would watch movies, eat pizza, and they would play video games while I wrote. We would drink wine and cheap whiskey together getting ourselves into various amounts of trouble.

Kyle’s sigh on the other end snapped me back out of my daydream.

“Nicole I don’t know what to do anymore. He wouldn’t want you this way I know that for sure. All you do is lock yourself up in that apartment and drink booze, staring off into space... I’m coming over right now.”

He hung up; well I guess I better get dressed in something that is not his; after one more smoke though. I smoke like a chimney, always have and always will. I have no fear of death, and actually right now it sounds pretty inviting.

After finding a lighter on the coffee table and lighting my smoke I walked down the hall towards our room. Correction my room now, there was no him to share anything with anymore.

No more shared cigarettes, bottles of wine, or plates of pasta. No one hogged the bed anymore; unless you count Roger, but an 8 pound cat doesn’t take up much room. There were no more stolen glances across rooms, or kisses under cotton sheets.

I wiped a tear that ran down my cheek, as I looked in the closet for a clean shirt and pants. I slid on some ripped jeans, and a Pink Floyd shirt; the one I was wearing the day we met.

I adored Pink Floyd, hence the name Roger for my cat.

I walked back into the living room and turned on the radio, Green Day instantly filling the room. A few minutes later I heard a knock at the door I got up, reluctantly leaving my spot on the couch and went to answer the door.

Kyle stood on the other side, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bottle of Jameson whiskey in the other.

“I thought we could start off with this.”

I gave him a half-hearted smile and let him in. Kyle grabbed glasses from the kitchen and joined me in the living room, pouring us deep glasses of wine. I picked up the Jameson and cracked the top, taking a long sip of the amber liquid, it burned all the way down.

Extending his arm for the whiskey I handed it to him, picking up my wine glass and drinking half.

“Hey Nic slow down… You don’t want to get too wasted.”

I looked at him over my glass, shrugging my shoulders and reached for a smoke.

We stayed that way for a while, him talking while I drank silently.

After the wine was gone, and the whiskey three quarters gone I knew I was drunk enough to open my mouth, I looked over at Kyle, lit a Marlboro, and inhaled deeply before I spoke.

“I miss him Kyle.”

He almost spit out his drink after hearing my voice, looked at me with red rimmed eyes, that I am sure matched my own, he nodded slowly.

“I know Nic, but you know it would kill him to see you like this.”

It was my turn to nod, it would have. He always brought out the best in me, whether he knew that or not; I don’t know.

“Tell me how you two met again.” He said.

Kyle had heard this story too many times, I wondered if hearing it was for my benefit or his. I looked into his eyes and smiled slightly,

“Again? Haven’t you heard this one enough?”

He chuckled, “Yes, but you’re such a good story teller, and I want to hear it again.”

I sat back against the couch thinking back to that day.

The first day I met Frank Iero.

Notes