Olivia
Kia ora, friends.
It’s story time!
This is a thing I found in a document I’d titled ‘Vignettes’. It’s mostly a docx file full of single-line ideas and some dreams I tried to transfer to the page. But nestled amongst those things, which I am absolutely not ready to show just yet, was this - or the core of it anyway. I only intended to add a little bit, but once I started typing I kind of just couldn’t stop. It was initially only two small paragraphs, but it really just exploded onto the page.
I must apologise up front for how sad this might make you - it broke my heart to put these words on the page, and I literally cried while typing and had to take a little break to finish up the section you are reading right now. Also, a content warning for this story is probably a good idea. 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻
This short story features the following themes: lesbians, love, loss, depression, intolerant parents of trans people, a car accident, and a hospital stay. And without putting too fine a point on it, emphasis on the loss.
There is nothing graphic or explicit though.
As with the Homeland Sadpost issue, please avoid it if you are feeling particularly vulnerable right now. Please don’t put yourself in a harmful situation. If you really want to read, but feel like it might not be safe for you, please maybe skip this one and come back to it when you’re feeling better. If you need help, or to talk to someone, I’ve compiled a list of several countries’ crisis hotlines that you can free call (or in some cases, text or access online), and you can find that list here.
And finally, I feel like I need to give a short disclaimer, too. Maybe it’s not necessary, but just in case: This short story is a complete work of fiction, and any similarity to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Now, without further ado, I give you; Olivia.
My name is Tabitha, and Olivia is my girlfriend.
Olivia has long, straight, crimson hair, and it falls down past her waist, just barely concealing the back pocket of her white jeans. Her eyes are blue, the bluest thing I have ever seen, and it’s my most favourite thing in the world to look into them. Olivia draws and she writes. She makes games, and no matter what game we play together, she’s always better at them than me - but I love that about her. She likes to cook, but she’s bad at it. She’s always burning something, or forgetting something, but she keeps trying, and I tell her I love her food even though she knows I’m lying, and that I wish I could take over sometimes. Sometimes she asks me for help, which I know means “please do this for me, I’m so over it,” and of course I oblige - because I love her, and because we both know that I’m the much better cook.
When Olivia kisses me, even on the cheek or the forehead, I feel like I might stop breathing. Time stops when we’re together. The whole world could be ending outside our window, and we would just be there, cooking in the kitchen, or playing a videogame, or kissing, and we would never even notice.
Olivia had a car accident once. A serious one. She was driving alone at night, before we moved in together. She was coming to see me, to stay the night. I had ordered dinner and some sodas, I queued up our favourite movie, and in the side table by the couch, I had left a small velvet box; right next to where she always puts her keys. In the box, a perfect, small gold band with a perfect, single diamond. I wasn’t going to ask her to marry me, we had already discussed that, but it was our anniversary, and I was going to ask her an equally important question. But I didn’t get the chance.
When Olivia was allowed to leave the hospital, her parents wanted to take care of her. Of course, they also wanted to control her, too. I knew they wouldn’t treat her properly, I knew she might die in their care, I knew they wouldn’t even use her correct name or pronouns, so I fought them. I was allowed to bring her home, and I took care of her until she could take care of herself again. The doctor said she might not be quite the same anymore, but I don’t mind. I love her, and she loves me, and that’s all there is to it.
Olivia’s glasses are always dusty now, I don’t know how she puts up with it all the time. She just puts them on the bedside table when she goes to sleep, where they collect dust overnight, and then in the morning she will just pick them right back up and put them on her face. Sometimes she notices and wipes the dust away with the bottom of her singlet, and sometimes she goes a couple of days without noticing.
I wonder what it’s like to look through her eyes, through those dusty scratched-up lenses set into that bent, barely-hanging-together frame. I asked her once, ‘how long have you had those old things?’, to which she responded without looking at me, “I don’t…remember,” as her mind processed the question, responded, and then moved on to thinking about something else. Sometimes I think she’s not convinced I exist, like she considers me a part of her imagination. She responds to me so differently now than she used to. But I still love her, more than anything else in the world. And I know she loves me too; she just has a different way of showing it. She could go and be anywhere in the world if she wanted to, but she stays here, with me.
Olivia doesn’t draw anymore, or write, or make games. Sometimes she still plays games with me, but it always has to be something basic, or she might get dizzy, or confused. She doesn’t cook anymore either, she doesn’t even try. I think she’s afraid she might hurt herself or hurt me. I don’t mind not sharing the responsibility though, I knew this might happen when she got out of the hospital, and I don’t mind taking care of it for her.
We are in our late forties now. The doctor Olivia has been seeing lately says that she might not have much longer. The damage from her accident all those years ago is getting worse, not better. They think I won’t be physically able to take care of her soon. So, we are looking at some options. Olivia doesn’t want to go to a facility, she wants to stay with me, so we are looking at getting a care worker to come during the week to help her with things. Olivia doesn’t really like this idea either, but we are short on time, and she knows I can’t take care of her by myself anymore.
Olivia asked me a question this morning. A question I couldn’t answer, not right away. We had just eaten breakfast, I helped her, and then we moved outside onto the porch. “Tabitha,” Olivia said, “Did you hear me?” Of course, I heard her, but I couldn’t process it. I knew why she was asking me, she didn’t need to explain, but I needed a moment to think about whether I even could. “Yes, Olivia,” I replied. “I heard you, I just…” “I know. It’s a hard thing that I’m asking for.” “It is.” “I need you to be strong for me, love. Stronger than you’ve ever been. I know this is hard. I know it.” “I know.”
It’s been fifteen years since that morning on the porch. Fifteen years since that following night. Fifteen years since I said goodbye to Olivia for the last time. I’ve cried, at least a little bit, every single day since then. I have never healed, and I have not moved on - how could I? The other half of me is gone forever. I visit her at the cemetery twice a week, it’s now the only ritual we have left and I can’t bear to lose that too. I’m retired now, so I have plenty of free time to think - and I’ve been thinking about Olivia a lot more just lately. Thinking, in particular, how much I desperately to see her again. I don’t know if we’ll be together in the afterlife, but I hope we will.
The doctor says the heart attack I had today was pretty severe. She says I have to stay at the hospital for observation for a few days. Fine. As long as they take me to the cemetery on Friday to visit Olivia - they said they would. The room I’m in is directly across the hallway from the one Olivia stayed in, all those years ago. They told me I shouldn’t get out of bed, but I did anyway while no one was watching, just for a look. I wonder if I’ll see Olivia’s ghost in there, but it’s empty. I’m disappointed, but it’s fine, I’ll see her on Friday.
Tabitha Marie Campbell, 63, passed away this morning, Friday 9 July, from complications following a heart attack earlier in the week. She is survived by her loving parents, Helen, Tamsin, and Hugh, her two sisters, Alana and Seline, and her nephew Ash. Tabitha now joins, in the afterlife, her beloved Olivia Elspeth Price. She will be greatly missed.
I really hope you enjoyed this story, and if you did I would ask you to please consider purchasing a digital PDF copy from my itch.io page for US$6.50 or more, subscribing to this newsletter at the paid level, or sending me a koha (donation) of any amount on my Kofi or Paypal. And as always, feel free to hit me up at the social links at the bottom of the page. If you want to see more of my writing, I review movies on my Letterboxd sometimes!
Thanks so much for reading, I’ll talk you again soon.
Ka kite anō au i a koe. 💚
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