A faint whisper, a glance now and then. But how could I help myself? I had to scream. I had to break down and cry like his family. But I couldn't. I didn't believe this happened. People kept giving me the look. I hated it. I hated all of this crap. The stranger looked at me. Who was he? A tall lean body, wearing black straight jeans, a white v-neck. So casual. Not appropriate. But no one knew him. Was he even invited? He just gazed at me, sorrow in his eyes. I didn't now what color his eyes were, either blue or gray. And his hair, a sandy brown color. He just looked at me. No smile. He bit his lip and walked away when he noticed I was looking at him. I blinked. He wasn't there. Was he once there? Was it a dream? I focused and looked at the priest. Toasts. Nate's favorite song playing in the background. The last few moments spent with him speeding through my head. Then the accident, which I survived. And he didn't. The rights done and performed, I drove him without notifying anyone. I was 18. I didn't have to. I opened the house door, running to my room. I cried.
"Nate," I whispered, "I still love you."
I took off my black dress, grabbing the shirt which had a picture of us on it and went in the covers. At first, this shirt was cheesy. Now I loved it. I grabbed my phone and called his phone, which he had left at my house. His voice in the message.
Hey, this is Nate. I'm out right now. Call you back later.
I kept calling, just to hear his voice. Hear him say his name over and over again. I cried and held my phone against my ear.
"Please," I whispered, "call me back later."