Brand New Eyes

1. Wrong Turn

1. WRONG TURN

We sit silently, staring unseeingly out the windshield. Out at the glow in the pavement in front. The rain slowly hammering against the windows slowly fades into the background. The events from the past couple of hours replay at the back of my mind repeatedly as my swollen, tired, still-wet eyes finally stop letting the tears escape. But the fire and heartbreak inside me doesn’t ease.

We’ve not exchanged words since dawn. Since it finally registered to me what today was. What today held. What today symbolized.

I was never any good at saying goodbyes. Not even to strangers let alone one of your own. But today was bittersweet which made it easier. Easier to pretend to let go.

The flowers piled up in the worst way, the sweet, caring messages tagged on them reminding me of my loss. I found it hard to breathe. No one knew what to say. I mean, what do you say to a girl that’s lost everything? Everyone? A girl who now has nothing?

I tried to hold myself together until the very end. Even when I stood up at the alter and pulled out the piece of paper from my pocket. The letter that I planned and prepared. The letter that I couldn’t force myself to write. The letter that had only two words written on it. Words that symbolized my life, it’s meanings but without those two words, I was nothing. I was completely and utterly alone.

And of course, that only lead to an endless stream of tears from my eyes and the gaping whole in my chest caved in, sucking me into a big, black hole of emptiness. Until Michael ran up to me and cradled me into his chest, promising me that everything would be okay.

But it was a lie. It was all a lie.

I tried so hard to hold myself together as I placed a single rose on the soil path. But of course, I broke down. Everyone was understandable. Even when I ran away - so fast - and into the car and sped away as far as I could. But of course, Michael followed me, pushed me into the passenger’s seat and let me cry myself to sleep.

And then I woke up to find myself where I am now, peering out the window through my tired eyes as the night slowly crept in, the past couple of hours being nothing but a distant memory.

Michael took a deep breath, “How are you feeling?” He asked.

I took a deep breath of my own, knowing I had to speak sooner or later. I looked at him for the first time, and forced an amicable smile. “Okay”, I replied. He should’ve looked relieved but he looked uncomfortable and scared. And sad.

“You sure?” He asked and I just nodded, focusing on the traffic in front of us. Those two words that I had heard too many times today pulled on my heart strings, threatening my eyes to open up another stream.

“D’you want me to take you home?” he asked. We’d been driving for near enough five hours now.

I didn’t know what to say to him. Where was home? Was it still home when you were alone? I didn’t want Michael to worry about me so I just told him what he wanted to hear.

“Sure”. My voice was barely a whisper.

“Okay,” he paused, “Just gotta wait out this traffic first” he said, looking straight ahead.

He was right. The traffic jam in front of us seemed to go on forever. Soon, the entire freeway was packed, horns blew, passengers yelled. It was pretty out of the ordinary for the traffic to be this bad on a Sunday evening in Portland.

“What’s going on?” I finally asked.

“I don’t have a clue. Must be roadwork’s I guess - or an accident” he answered sceptically. The minutes grew on until finally, a cop showed up-directing the annoyed passengers to carry on going forward even though there wasn’t any improvement of actually going more than 5 mph. I watched as one by one, he informed them about the goings on until finally, he reached our Sedan.