A Penny For My Thoughts ~ phan

IX

Phil

"Come on, Phil, chin up. You said so yourself, you didn't even know the person. Besides, it's not like you're the one who killed them."

She makes a move to rest a hand on my shoulder as we walk to the car. I shrug away.

Without saying another word, we climb in, the car doors slamming into place simultaneously. The ignition sounds like a funeral, the air reeking of destroyed innocence. What have I done? What have I done?

This hunk of metal is dragging me to my house, my freedom. My bees will help me forget as Persimmon, my favorite person in the world, will look after me with all the attention she has. That's what she always does, even when my troubles are miniscule. I don't deserve her.

Situated in our seats with two new books laid carefully next to my feet, we pull out of the parking lot. She places a hand on my own and this time I don't resist. Her touch is kind and feather light, and all I need now are six little words. "Everything is going to be okay."

"We're going to bring you back home-"

As far as I can I lean my body against the window.

"and we're gonna put a riveting animal documentary on because I know how much you love them-"

A person in bright orange walks past the window. Another in bright red. The gray day is getting darker. 

"and we can have popcorn and anything else your heart desires because I will gladly go out and buy it for you and before you know it-"

My head bump, bump, bumps against the window in harmony with my dysfunctional train of thoughts. They're the conductor, that brown eyed stranger, and with every screeching stop they make, one color in particular becomes clearer and clearer. Burgundy.

"you'll be good as new. I love you, Phil and I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?"

Persimmon's still speaking. I nod.

The burgundy human rides their train far into the clouds, far out of my reach. The relief is slight, shrinking out of existence as the truth takes up space. They're headed to heaven because they are dead. Nothing will change that.

She turns on the radio and it's so loud. Not at all what I expected. Her hand returns to mine. The noise stays obnoxious as we drive along. I guess she doesn't care so much.

Just like the outside world doesn't care about my regrets. It doesn't care about what I've done, especially when it has so much going on itself, like the curly haired humans sourly coming and going. My reaction pulls me back to reality as said human whizzes through my line of vision, their feet stepping on the sidewalk, their train forgotten. They can't be here but they are, I'm sure of it.

Craning my neck much too quickly, I follow the very fleeting image of the person before it completely takes off. Seeing is believing and I know what I have stumbled upon now. However, I also know that Persimmon wouldn't lie to me so there must be some logical explanation as to why my eyes are tricking me, laughing as my confusion runs a muck.

Some possible reasons for this seemingly impossible occurrence:
The insufferable guilt I'm feeling is enough to suddenly send me into a hallucinatory state
Burgundy has an identical twin
I haven't gone to the eye doctor in much too long a time
All of the above

It's true that I wouldn't put it past myself to be sick with guilt to the point of imagining things yet all of the above doesn't seem that far off either. Maybe I just need some sleep. They say that's the only cure you really need and right now, and possibly forever, I will always be a part of them. Them who are the scientists and atheists and left brained thinkers.

Burgundy is dead, gone except for in the minds and hearts of others, and that's all there is to it.