The Beginning of the End (Editing)

Eighteen (Part Two): Flowers

The groan that the doctor mentioned earlier echoes in this dead room. It's so foreign and so alien and I hate it. I want the harmony of her voice to linger through my mind with words such as, "It's okay Kyle, I forgive you". I don't like the sound of the try in her groans. She's trying to say things that she simply can't just because of what I did and what I've done.

"For gods sake, listen to you," I blubber onwards, sitting myself at the foot of her bed. I wipe the side of my cheek and sniffle. I find myself gazing at her hands and her arms with all of the needles and tubes lodged into them. I wonder what she thinks of them? My eyes travel further up her arm to the hideous robe that I've put her in. Furthermore I find her eyes as they find mine. They aren't dead, but they aren't alive either. They're just there. Blank, barren, empty- all of the above. It makes my heart shatter. "You don't remember at all, do you El?" I add on, taking her hand in mine to caress it gently.

Comfort, she needs comfort.

A groan leaves her lips once more- it hurts so bad I wince. Look at what I've done.

"Eleanor, I'm Kyle," I mutter, looking into her eyes to see if anything in herself clicks to the name. Anything, even if it was that night I don't care. I just want her to recognise me.

"I... I don't know what to say. I've been your friend for a really long time. You moved in down the street from me when you first moved here," I pause, smiling down at the sheets as the vision of a little girl with hazelnut hair greeting me at the door. The little boy then welcomed her to the neighbourhood with a little white flower he picked out of his mothers garden. He told her his name, she told him his. She followed by welcoming him inside so that she could draw her flower. She did and then she gave it to him.

She said thank you for the flower, she smiled and hugged him. She also said that they'd be good friends for a really long time because she already liked him. She told him about how her mommy and daddy would really like him, but he only noticed one lady who she called 'Aunt Hannah' in the house.

But he smiled at her and left smiling. He liked her too, and he liked the flower and the drawing of the girl and boy side by side. He kept it.

***

I decided yesterday that I'd come to school today. But instead of going to each scheduled class, I've stayed in Mr Walkers office the whole time. He's marked me present for every other class for me thankfully. I've been reading and re-reading over the thing, not the poem but the thing, that I wrote for El. I don't know what to think of it now, not after yesterday. I thought I'd hear words and I thought she'd feel.

Now the piece of paper has become weak due to the nerve induced sweat pooling in my hands. I wanted to read it to her yesterday, but she didn't know anything. She didn't know words, sense- not even herself. The words poured to the sheet have smeared a bit, only leaving fragments of sentences recognizable. There's only now one distinctive sentence.

"Glass fragments have pierced my skin whilst jumping through this window for you, I wouldn't mind the bleeding if it weren't for the fact that you've stared at the wounds instead of patching them over"

I've stared mindlessly at this piece of paper for the past half an hour.Waiting, waiting, trying to imagine. What can I do to clear this debris? Thistime it's not as easy as picking up a brush and shovel to sweep the crackedglass away.

I told Mr Walker about Eleanor and how she is, to which he gave me his condolences. It didn't make sense, but now as I think about it as I read the paper I do. She's gone. She's not even Eleanor anymore. She's a whole different person inside of her body. She's no longer a painting full of colour, life and brilliance but she is now a blank canvas. Ready to be started from scratch.

I don't want a blank canvas though, I want the original masterpiece.

"What should I do, sir?" I mumble, screwing up the paper in my fist. "Look at what's happened, it's all because of me." I finish, throwing the piece of paper to the trash. I scoot the chair further away from his desk as he looks at me with eyes that are too sad to tolerate. I don't want pity, I don't even deserve pity- I just want things back as they were before I decided that love was something to be released from its cage.

He stands up without a word, moving across the room to a large, wooden bookshelf. He pulls out a book with an old leather looking cover and unrecognizable words imprinted in gold on the front. He looks at me from the bookshelf, then to the book, then back to me as he walks and approaches me slowly.

"Look sir, I don't really need any poetry or a classic novel for answers-"

"Take this and read it." He abruptly interrupts as he bobs down, forcing the book into my grasp. The words in gold are now readable. Lost and Found. I've never heard of it before. "If it doesn't help you, I don't know what will because of all the literature in the world this is the piece that has helped me most," He adds on. "Return it if you wish, but it's yours otherwise." The bell chimes as he finishes his sentence and without another word he leaves the room for last period.

I open the cover of the book, revealing undeniably stunning calligraphy in black ink.

In dedication to my dear friend, Hans Walker. Without you, this wouldn't be in your hands and would not have a word written. Thank you for helping me discover myself, as now I wish to do the same for you. You helped me love myself and who I am along with all the flaws that I'm tainted with. I was lost, and you found me. You hide the fact that your lost too, so now it is my turn to find you.

Sincerely, Grace Jones.

(PS: I love you, Hans. With all my heart and more, I hope you love this too. xo)