Saving Emily

Miracle 15

~ Miracle 15 ~

Emily

   With Hannah down the hall, it was as if I didn’t feel quite so alone anymore.  I slept peacefully that night, but when I woke up in the morning, and was shifting between my dream state and being awake, I could’ve swore I heard Ronnie’s voice whispering to me in the darkness. 

   “Wake up, pretty girl.  We need to get going.  Can’t let Cameron get to Dylan first…”

   When I opened my eyes and found the room empty, I let out a sigh and sat up in bed.  I had slipped on Ronnie’s shirt the night before, something that I wasn’t quite ready to let go of.  I thought that maybe if I wore something of his, a piece of him would still be here.

   That’s when I heard the knock on the door. 

   I expected it to be Hannah coming over to talk about the day’s events, but when I looked through the peephole, I saw Dylan’s face.  I opened the door and yawned. 

   “Hey,” I said. “Why so early?”

   He shook his head.  “I was just missing her, I guess.  I needed someone to talk to.”

   I motioned inside and said, “Well then, come on in.”

   He walked inside of the room and I flipped on the lights.  The room flooded with light as Dylan took a seat on the couch.  I sat on the desk chair across from him. 

   “What’s up?” I said. 

   Dylan was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Do you ever dream about him?  Ronnie, I mean.  Like, does he haunt you every second of every day, because you never got a chance to tell him how you really felt?  Is it just me?  Am I going crazy…?”

   I leaned forward and said, “Absolutely not!  It’s nothing that’s wrong with you, Dylan.  I promise you.  I’ve had them too.”

   He was silent.  I waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, I broke the silence and suggested, “Why don’t you tell me about her?”

   He nodded slowly.  “She was beautiful,” he began. “She had long blonde hair and bright green eyes.  I can still remember the way that her hand fit perfectly into mine, and how she always smelled the same.  Like jasmine.  She was kind and gentle toward me.”

   He chuckled as he continued, “I used to wake up in the morning and find her cooking in the kitchen of my apartment.  She was so particular about different foods.  Like, she hated having eggs over-easy.  She always broke the yolk and ate it like that.  She used to say ‘over-hard.’”

   I smiled slightly. 

   “It’s the things like that that are hardest to forget,” I said quietly.