The Feeling

<p>The last time I saw Marcus alive, we were standing in his driveway, laughing about nothing in particular.</p><p>He was the kind of guy who made everyone feel at ease—tall, easy-going, with a smile that seemed to come naturally. That afternoon, he leaned against his car, telling me about his new job, and I remember thinking how solid he seemed. How permanent.</p><p>Then he said he had to get going. Punched in a number on his phone, grabbed his keys. When he walked past me toward the garage, something... shifted.</p><p>It's hard to describe. Like a cold draft that had nothing to do with the weather. My chest tightened. The world seemed to slow down around the edges, and I got this overwhelming sensation—this certainty—that I was looking at him for the last time. Not in the way you might say goodbye to someone going on vacation. I mean <em>really</em> the last time. That he was about to be taken from this world entirely.</p><p>I stood there, frozen. Watching him walk away. My sister was saying something about dinner plans, but her voice sounded like it was coming through water.</p><p>"I need to tell you something strange," I finally managed. "I just... I have this feeling. About Marcus. Like he's not going to be here much longer. Like something terrible is going to happen to him."</p><p>My sister stared at me. "Don't say things like that."</p><p>"I'm not trying to. I don't <em>want</em> to think it. But I can't shake it."</p><p>She told me to stop, that I was being morbid, that his mother would be furious if she heard me talking like that. I tried to drop it. We went to dinner. I told myself it was just an anxious thought, nothing more.</p><p>Two months later, my sister called. Her voice was flat. Wrong.</p><p>"Marcus was in an accident. He's gone."</p><p>I dropped the phone.</p><p>They said it was quick. A drunk driver. A highway. No time to suffer. That's what people say when they want to make you feel better, I guess. But all I could think about was that moment in the driveway. That cold certainty. The way my body knew before my mind could process it.</p><p>I've never been superstitious. I was the girl who believed in data, in logic, in things you could prove. But I still can't explain what happened that afternoon. Call it intuition. Call it a gift I never asked for. All I know is that sometimes, the space between knowing and understanding is a very long road.</p><p>And sometimes, the things we feel don't care whether we believe in them or not.</p>