I've heard of many tragedies. Shootings, kidnappings, people losing loved ones to various accidents and diseases, and so on. There are so many stories and books whose pages have been damp with tears no matter how cliche the problem was. Every human has their soft spot, some are easy to reach, and others a little more difficult. No matter who or how strong one thinks they are, they always have something they can't afford to lose.
I always thought I was strong, and yet my world was torn apart so easily.. I guess there really is no such thing as happily ever after.
I think it was about a year ago, when everything was so... incredibly normal. Drivers were rushing through the streets with their incoherent honking and crude language. People filled the sidewalks, distracted and hurried from what they had to do. It didn't bug me, that was the kind of atmosphere I was once used to.
I was on my old, beaten down delivery bike on my normal route, whistling an original tune I hoped one day I could take to the stage. The streets were flying by, except for the occasional stop to drop of a package. The routes were going by faster than usual, since I was happy, my paycheck was just raised to the point where I had enough money to buy something very special.
Well, happy until I got a phone call, that is. And then I froze, and the world froze, and everything I cared about slipped out of my hands. The phone threatened to fall from my shaking fingers as the nurse spoke in a cold, monotone voice: Lucy was in the hospital, her parents and her were in a car crash. Her parents were dead and the doctor wasn't sure if Lucy was going to wake up.
And I dropped the phone and sped as fast as I could towards her.
As thick as my mind was clouded, it was only by heaven's grace that I got to the hospital, and was immediately rushed to her room. I hadn't listened to a word they had said to me as I walked through the endless hallways, the bright lights and repetitive checkered pattern going unnoticed by my minds eye, my step only slowing as I reached the overbearing doorway.
When I finally saw her, she had bandages wrapped over head - thick and red, a neck brace supporting her, almost too tightly, and one of her eyes was incredibly swollen. Even if she woke up, I doubt she would be able to open it. She was covered in a white sheet, blotted with scarlet spots where she had already bled through her bandages. I stumbled over to her bed, falling on my knees as I reached her side, my hands clasping around her small fingers.
I remember clearly how cold it felt to the touch.
The nurses were still talking in the background, but I ignored their like the crowd in cafe. I rested my forehead on her stomach, listening to the relieving heartbeat, too lost inside myself to do anything else.
Just three days later, we had planned to meet in the town park. We had made a deal - more like she forced me to accept the idea - that if I brought my guitar and notebook she would bring lunch. We would meet at noon at her favorite spot - a little bench under a willow tree, where the sun met through its branches just right, and there were always small squirrels and birds harvesting for food. I knew her plans: We would write a song together.
We would have written a song together. It would have been silly and goofy so we would have laughed about it until the stars came out. Both of our faces would be flushed pink and we both would have half eaten sandwiches in our laps. The birds would have sung along with our laughter while we got strange looks from the passersby. We would sometimes get off topic, and would have one point fed the neglected food to the squirrels. Neither of us would care about anything anyone thought about us, for we were the only thing that mattered in our own little paradise.
I always loved her for simple reasons like that. We could go somewhere as exciting as Disneyland and still have the same amount of fun in our own little town in our own little paradise.
That special thing I told you about earlier? It was a small, diamond ring, that sat in a glass box in the window of a small jewelry shop. Everytime we passed there, she thought she was inconspicuous, but I saw her glance at the simple wonder, and I would see her smile; see the soft longing in her eyes before her gaze redirected to the dirty road in front of us.
So that day, before our little date, I would have went and bought the ring, then hiding it in one of my coat pockets. At the end of the night, I would have played that song for her. My guitar would have sat in my lap, and I would smile and watch her as did a dance to it. Afterwards, I would shown her that simple ring, watched her face blush a precious pink, and I would've asked her to marry me, so that there wouldn't be another day that would pass that we wouldn't smile under the shadow of her favorite willow tree.
I guess I fell asleep at some time or the other, because I was woken up by the rustling of sheets. I had yawned, unaware of where I was at the moment, the bright hospital light blinded my vision, my neck stiff and memory foggy. I had lifted my head, and was met by an amber eye looking down on me.
"Lucy!" I had yelled, throwing my arms around her in a hug. My hands were shaking with relief and my cheeks were covered in sparkling tears of joy. I held onto her so tight.. So that she could never slip away again.
Little did I know, she was already gone.
It came very clear though, as with a blank face, her voice somewhat appalled by actions and her hands trying to push me off, she told me "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
----
An hour later, I was pacing outside her room, my hands driven down into my pockets and my brow furrowed. I didn't know if I should cry or not, I didn't know if I should leave or not, I just didn't know anything. The world was spinning so fast now.. It was leaving me back in its shadow. The doctor came out, and told me the worse thing that could have possibly happened. She had amnesia, and she wasn't going to get her memories back. So they were going to send her to some family over in another country where she could start over in a safe environment...
Also, that I shouldn't go to see her anymore. It would just stir confusion.
I went home, I don't know how, and I don't know when. I honestly don't remember much, I was in a daze, where I couldn't think, I couldn't cry, I couldn't deny what he was saying and rush in there and make her remember me. I couldn't do anything.
The only thing I could tell myself was she was gone.. But she wasn't dead. I guess I should've been happy for that reason, but I couldn't be. She would go on the rest of her life, not even thinking of her parents, or the life she left behind. She would never think of that little diamond ring shining in the jewelery shop window, which I now avoid at every cost even though I know it's been long since sold. She wouldn't think of the songs we used to listen to till midnight, and the ones I now have deleted from my phone because they make me cry. She wouldn't think about her little bench under the shadow of the willow tree, with her precious squirrels and the light that once made her look so beautiful.. And she wouldn't think about me. Never again.
If she had died, I know she would be waiting for me in some kind of afterlife where we could recreate our paradise, and we could laugh and sing songs together again. But after that car crash, I wasn't a part of her anymore, and so I couldn't even look forward to seeing her again, because she would have the same blank expression as the people I passed on the street. I was a nobody to her, yet she was, and is still, an everything to me.
I'd stayed there, in my bed, completely emotionless for hours upon hours. It was dark.. And my entire body had the same sensation as it did when I touched her cold fingers. I was shivering, my eyes half shut, but they weren't filled with tears. I felt absolutely nothing. When finally my daze wore off, I guess I was washed over with some kind of hope. I rode my bike back to hospital, the city lights bright as the world flew past me, convinced I could make her remember me, but when I got there, they told me she was already gone.
That it had been three days since the accident. And then I left, I had no where to go or no reason to move on.
So I got my guitar and my notebook, and sat under the shadow of her favorite willow tree, and wept.
