A Golden Paradise

Memories of Brightness

I had to run for the bus stop, my hood pulled tightly over my head to shield me from the pouring rain. I could barely see through the rain; it was dense and fast falling. It was cold and dull out, with not a ray of the sun's golden light managing to break through the coverage of storm-laden clouds. My throat hurt. My head hurt. I sighed and waited for the stupid bus to come, the yellow monstrosity was always late.

When the bus finally arrived I got on quickly. There was a faint smell of vomit and alcohol radiating from the seats but I ignored it and sat down, I was used to it at that stage. I let my mind wander back home, to the golden daffodils and yellow primroses that lived in our garden. I could remember dancing around hay bales and falling asleep under the big oak tree in summer. I cracked a smile at that. Summers were always the best in the country-side. I was a free bird back then, but I couldn't help but feel like a canary trapped in a dull grey cage as the bus traveled down the sullen streets. I would have given anything to go home, to remember all the things I had certainly forgotten and to breathe in the fresh air of an untouched paradise.

I would be lying if I had let myself think the scenery was the only ting I missed about home. I missed Christa more than anything. I missed her long golden hair and her warm smile and her kind blue eyes. I missed her laugh, and how she could make every moment a fairy-tale, and every day perfect simply by being at my side. I could still remember the scent of her strawberry shampoo, and sometimes I could almost feel her hand clasped in mine, as if her spirit was silently telling me things would be ok. It was my imagination, I understand this. But I was desperate, I was reliant on those ghost-touches. I was broken being away from her.

On that bus my mind wandered back to my fifteenth birthday. It felt like an age ago, even though only a few years had passed. Christa made me a surprise picnic and convinced her step-dad to drive us both down to the beach, where the water lapped lazily at the shore and worry didn't exist. She was wearing a pretty white sundress and ridiculously delicate sandals. Of course she got cold, so I slung my jacket over her shoulders. Even though it was massive on her she still looked amazing, like a fairy that had stolen some poor human's clothes. I loved her.

We sat on the sand and ate and talked. I couldn't help but stare as the sunlight glistened off her golden locks, encompassing her face in a bright yellow halo. We had been surrounded by beauty in that peaceful, perfect paradise. The sand almost seemed to glow under the sun's evening light and not even the sea could compete with the exquisite sparkle in Christa's eyes.
She first told me she loved me on that day. The simple knowledge that Christa Renz could love a simple, lanky girl like me made the world seem better, brighter. She held my hand as we admired the sunset together as the soft sound of the waves tried to lull us to sleep.

My memories shifted and I was presented with an image of Christa - in a blue dress this time- twirling around in a field of gold. That was such an important day, for both of us. She pulled me through the wheat and we danced to the music of the birds and the breeze. We laughed, out of breath but happy, and flopped to the ground together. Christa's golden hair fanned out around her face like lightning. It wasn't a particularly fitting image. She was nothing like a storm, she was kind and benevolent, she created and cared for the things she cared about. I learned so much from her.
On that day I told her I loved her for the first time and I don't think I'll ever forget the look on her face. She was so happy. I had made her happy. I wasn't a feelings person, I was sarcastic and rude and sometimes harsh and cruel. I couldn't comprehend how I was able to make her happy. She was a hummingbird and I was a wasp, but perhaps she couldn't see my stripes. Perhaps she had confused me for a bee.

The one constant in all my happy memories was Christa. She was the light of my life, as cheesy as that sounds. I, Ymir, was turned into a soppy daydreamer by a small girl with a cute smile.
But she got sick. When she told me I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to do, what to say, what to feel. But I became determined, we were going to fight it together, Christa and I. Loads of people got cancer and survived - medicine had advanced a lot she had a chance.

Only she didn't.

I remember when her hair started falling out. We got our heads shaved together. She had to vomit half way through but we got it done, and our hair lay mixed together on the cold linoleum floor. He hair didn't seem bright at all as it lay beside my dull brown fluff. It had lost its lustre but Christa certainly hadn't.

My parents never had a good sense of timing. Half way through Christa's treatment they decided to move so my idiot dad could pursue a job opportunity. I visited her as much as I could, I took the bus every day I could afford it. I even skipped school to go see her, but the harsh reality is she died alone and frightened in a hospital because her stepdad had buggered off and I was just a couple of hours too late.
I still visited her grave, and lay primroses and daffodils and yellow roses against her headstone. I tried moving on, I tried forgetting. It wasn't hard to see that my happiness died along with Christa, she was a paradise lost.

I sat on that bus until the rain stopped. I got off and sat by the big oak, it was warm so I took off my jacket.
The locals pitied me, sitting with my lost love six feet underneath me. They often spoke of when we would weave crowns from the flowers that grew around the tree and dance to unknown melodies.

I planted primroses on her grave. They were always her favourite, they were mine too.
Even years later they still flourish. I still visit her all the time, I guess I'm not too good at letting go. I bought a house, and got a job in that village that used to be ours to explore, an undiscovered kingdom of adventure and happiness.

I'm better now, being near her. My parents don't approve, but they never really did. They just disliked confrontation.
My heart aches for Christa, but I will survive for her, live for her. It was what she wanted, how could I refuse?

I couldn't manage moving on but I think she'll forgive me for that. I'll live and that will just have to be enough.