I loved a girl, and then she died.

Her name was Melissa. Such a beautiful name. Such a beautiful girl. We met a Starbucks. I know, how unoriginal, I know I’ve seen at least one movie were a guy a girl meets at a coffee shop and falls in love. I wish there was something more exotic to it, I know Melissa would have been able to think up something that sounded better than meeting in Starbucks, but that’s what happened, so I figured I’d stick with that.

I was sitting at a table, typing away on my laptop, oblivious to everything around me when she walked up and asked to share my table. I looked around to discover that the place had gotten quite busy since I sat down, so I of course agreed. I tried to clear some space on that small table and continued my typing. “What are you typing” she asked, trying to break the silence. Melissa never could stand a silent table, “Why be quiet when you can talk” she would say. I would rebut with “Silence is golden” but she never seemed to listen to that.

So we started talking, I don’t really remember about what. We were always talking it seems, somehow we always was able to find a subject. We. I should say she always was able to find a subject. We would talk of ancient philosophers, books neither one of us had read but always intended to read, what the President said last night, what that woman over there was wearing. Somehow we never got tired of it. And when I was done talking she would take over for me. It’s usually at these moments that she started dreaming.

“Mikey” she would say. My name is Michael, or Mike. I never liked being called Mikey. When kids in school made fun of me they would always start by calling me Mikey, but when she called me it, it was alright. I always complained about the nick-name, but she knew I wasn’t serious.

“Mikey, lets just go. Let’s go to Greece, or maybe Italy, or maybe just find some island somewhere and just live there forever.” When she said this she always clutched my arm as if she were pulling me to leave right then. She would then sigh and say, “Let’s just go to dinner instead, it’s closer.” God, I wish I could have taken her to some of those places, just once. We were going to go. I was going to surprise her with a trip to Greece and Italy. I bought the tickets and everything. But that’s when the headaches started.

I walked into her apartment with the tickets in my pocket, ready to tell her. She was lying on her couch, moaning in pain with a towel over her head. “I need to go to a doctor” she said, her speech slurring, and difficult to understand. We raced over to the hospital. The hospital did all kinds of tests and scans, it took hours. I should have gone to work, but I couldn’t leave her. There might be something I could do. I know, it sounds stupid, in a hospital full of doctors and medical equipment, and I thought me, an accountant, might be able to do something to help, but I wouldn’t leave. She kept insisting that I go, that she would be fine, but I didn’t budge.

The doctor walked in, his face didn’t look good. He couldn’t look either of us in the eye. When I saw that my heart stopped. “You have a brain tumor” “What can we do?” Melissa asked. She was never afraid to back down from a challenge. There was some problem she always wanted to face it right away, so she could get on with her life. The doctor said that it couldn’t be operated on and it was in the late stages on development. “You have six months to live” Those words echoed through my mind, and still do today. I know he said a lot of stuff before that, something about it being an estimation, based on the size and type of tumor it was, and the different treatments that could possibly extend her life a little, but I never can remember anything but those words. March 12^th was the day. I remember it vividly, and as soon as the doctor said those words I knew that I couldn’t be with my love after September 12^th. She smiled and said that no tumor was going to kill her.

We then went to dinner. She had made appointments for the various treatments the doctor recommended, and she insisted we go to dinner. It was 10 in the morning, but we found a Denny’s that served dinner items around the clock. She started talking as if she had not been told she was dying. I tried to keep up my end of the conversation, but I couldn’t get more than a few words out. So she started talking about Greece and Italy, and that island again. I remembered the tickets that were still in my pocket. I looked at them and just handed them to her. I couldn’t make myself say anything. I had never seen her so happy. That smile of hers, when I gave her those tickets, is ingrained in my mind. I close my eyes and see it, and everything seems alright, at least until I open my eyes again. The trip was for the middle of June, 3 months away, 3 months before she was going to die. Melissa started talking about all the things we were going to do in Greece and Italy. She wanted to shake the hand of the Pope, play hide and seek among ancient Greek ruins. I was happy, and was able to forget, for a time, those dreadful words of the doctor.

The weeks and months went by, and Melissa got more excited by the day. Every week it seems there was a new outfit she would buy for the trip. She wanted to look more European she said. She also started to learn Italian, so she could sound European too. She would shake her head when she looked at me and say, “I won’t know what we’re going to do about you; they’ll know you’re not European on the spot. I guess I’ll just tell them you’re a friend from the states.” She did buy me some new clothes though, so I could look “European” too.

It was a week before our trip. We were going to go to an Italian restaurant so we could compare their food with the “real thing”. I went into her apartment and there she was, crumpled on the floor. I tried to wake her, tried to help her, I tried anything. I called 911. The operator probably thought I was insane or something, I doubt I said one legible word, but the fire truck, and then the ambulance came in a few minutes, but it seemed hours. They hauled her off to the hospital. The entire time they worked on her I sat in the corner crying. I knew what was happening, but it wasn’t supposed to be happening, not yet. The EMT’s kept trying to talk to me, find out what happened. I tried to tell them, tried to help in anyway possible, but I don’t think I was very helpful, but it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t have mattered.

I drove to the hospital, getting there just after they unloaded Melissa. The entire drive to the hospital all I could think about was that the doctor had lied. He said 6 months. It had only been 3, she can’t die. Not yet.

But she did. The damn doctor lied. Apparently the treatments didn’t help as much as they had hoped. But it was only 3 months. I was promised 6. I lost 3 months to spend with my love. Why couldn’t God have given her just a few more weeks? At least she would have been able to see Greece and Italy. Been able to show off her new clothes, been able to speak Italian so no one would know she was from America. If only the trip had been sooner. There was a trip in April too, but I thought June would be better, better weather and all.

Goddamn it! I loved her and God took her from me.